Family Feud
by Jennaya
Summary: Allied Command wants the heroes to kidnap an English traitor, who turns out to be from Newkirk's past before he passes information to the Germans. How will Newkirk handle the situation? Can his mates keep him from committing cold-blooded murder? Complete
1. Chapter 1

**Family Feud**

 **By**

 **Jennaya**

DISCLAIMER:

All publicly recognizable characters and places are the property of CBS and Ryscher Entertainment. This piece of fan fiction was created for entertainment not monetary purposes and no infringement on copyrights or trademarks was intended. Previously unrecognized characters and places, and this story, are copyrighted to the author. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead is coincidental and not intended by the author.

* * *

"Colonel Hogan, the krauts just brought in a lieutenant. He's being taken into Klink's office now," Garlotti said standing in the doorway of the barracks the baseball still in his hands he'd been tossing with Reynolds.

"Better see what our host has in store for him." Hogan stood up from the common table walked over grabbing his jacket and cover from the back of his door, put them on, then left the hut. He lazily walked across the compound confident the lieutenant would hold his own with the Kommandant for a few minutes. Hogan entered the building closing the door to the Kommandantur behind him smiling at Hilda. "He busy?" he pointed at Klink's door.

"With a new prisoner," she purred at him. "How do you always know what he's up too?"

"Lucky I guess," he winked at her as he crossed the room knocking on the closed inner office door. Not waiting for an answer, he barged inside. "New prisoner?"

"You're not invited," Klink sounded exasperated.

"As the Senior Prisoner of War Officer, I'm always invited to any interrogation of my men." Hogan stood beside the lieutenant and offered his hand. "Colonel Robert Hogan, welcome to the …."

"The toughest prisoner of war camp in Germany, where there's never been a successful escape. And there never will be. For you the war is over. Resign yourself to your new reality. Now Lieutenant, what airbase were you stationed at?" Klink interrupted the introductions.

"Smith, Oliver, Lieutenant, 796824."

Hogan stood beside the lieutenant sizing up the obviously sleep deprived man.

"That information I have. What I need is the location of your airbase."

"Smith, Oliver, Lieutenant, 796824."

"You will give me the information I need," Klink tossed the lieutenant's paperwork down on the desk in an attempt to appear menacing failing miserably.

Despite his best effort, Smith smirked at the Kommandant's actions.

"You dare laugh at a German officer? You'll spend a week in the cooler to learn discipline," Klink was incensed.

"Kommandant, he didn't mean to come off flippant. He's new and doesn't know you as we do. Plus, he's tired, and I'd bet hasn't eaten in a long time. Under such duress, a man is likely to do things he normally wouldn't. It won't take him long after some rest and food to learn you're a man not to be trifled with, but to be shown the utmost respect. I bet he's already learned his lesson," Hogan gave the lieutenant a look that said to play along. Smith nodded almost imperceptibly understanding the orders.

"Yes sir. I'm sorry Colonel. It won't happen again. I hope you'll forgive my lack of military courtesy."

"Well," Klink wasn't quite mollified.

"We all know you're a strict disciplinarian, someone to be respected, but you're also a great humanitarian. Allow me to take the lieutenant to the barracks and I'll ensure he knows what is expected of him all the time," Hogan said trying to come up with what else might swing Klink to do as he wanted.

"I'll forgive the infraction this once. However, I want it clearly understood if there's another breach of conduct, the cooler time will be doubled," Klink said shaking a finger at the lieutenant.

"I understand, sir. It won't happen again," Smith said with a straight face, his blue eyes imparting respect for Klink taking his cue from Colonel Hogan.

"See to it that it doesn't. He's assigned to Barracks Two. Dismissed," Klink said. Smith gave Klink a sharp salute while Hogan hastily tossed off a halfhearted one.

Both men left the building heading towards Barracks Two. "Thank you sir, for keeping me out of the cooler."

"It's all part of the service, but not always possible. When were you shot down?"

"About four days ago, I think. What day is it?"

"Friday. Rough interrogations?"

"Nothing I couldn't handle, sir. Knew my name, rank, and serial by heart and so do the Jerries now," Smith smiled trying to hide a yawn.

"Good man," Hogan had taken an instant liking to the younger man. As he opened the door to the barracks added, "You'll be bunking with me."

Newkirk was playing cards and didn't bother to look up at the two men entering the barracks.

"Just like a limey not to notice officers," Smith said.

Newkirk looked up replying with a poker face. "Nothing to notice about 'em. How did ya get to be an officer? Did you steal those clothes from some poor bloke leaving him shivering and naked?"

"Nope. Earned it the old fashion way."

"Well don't expect me to go saluting or any such nonsense," Newkirk walked over next to the new man.

"I'd faint dead away if you did," Smith had twinkle in his eye.

"Then I might have to just to see you pass out on the floor," Newkirk replied with a huge grin. The two men hugged each other warmly.

"I take it you know each other?" Hogan asked dumbstruck at the conversation. Newkirk wasn't typically so insubordinate.

"Yes, Gov'nor. Smitty and I go way back. What are you doing here?"

"Rescue mission."

"Typical Yank. Don't you know if you're rescuing someone, you're not supposed to get captured?"

"Sorry ol' chap, not here to rescue you. However, once my mission is complete, be happy to take you back to London with me. Interested in getting back into the fighting?"

"Newkirk gets into enough trouble around here," Hogan said.

"From the briefing Colonel Forbes gave me on your unit sir, I believe you. You'll need this," Smith pulled a folded paper from his flight jacket pocket handing it to Hogan.

Hogan unfolded the paper looked at it, then handed it to Kinch to decode. Kinch opened the newest codebook, deciphering the code in what would appear to be a 'Dear John' letter from the lieutenant's girl to the casual observer, once completed gave the paper back to Hogan. After reading the message, he addressed the rest of the men in the barracks. "Give us some space fellas." Everyone except his core team hurriedly left the hut; Olsen took charge making sure the Germans didn't walk in on the pow-wow. "All right lieutenant, you're legit. What's this about?"

"Actually it's Major. As I said, a rescue mission and I'm going to need your help sir," Smith unsuccessfully tried to stifle another yawn.

"Sit," Hogan said pointing to the common table wondering how the man was able to stand. "Let me make introductions to the rest of the team. Carter our explosives expert, Kinch our radioman and my second in command, and LeBeau chef and dog handler," he pointed to each man.

"Nice to make your acquaintance gentlemen," Smith sat down rubbing hands over his tired face forcing his eyes to stay open as his stomach let loose a loud growl.

"How long has it been since you've had any sleep or food?" Newkirk asked genuinely concerned for his friend sitting beside him.

"If this is Friday, I haven't slept since bailing out of a plane on Tuesday. But sleep can wait, the mission is critical," Smith rubbed the palm of his hands over his tired eyes.

"Here, this will help," LeBeau handed him a cup of steaming coffee and a sandwich.

"Thanks," Smith smiled taking a drink from the mug afterwards biting into the first food he'd seen in two days.

"Rough trip through the Dulug?" Kinch asked sitting next to Hogan.

"A Captain thought he'd make Major out of my interrogation. Was he wrong," Smith smirked quickly finishing off the sandwich.

"What's your mission?" Hogan asked sitting across from the newcomer.

"The Gestapo have a man whom must be retrieved before he talks. He has information on an initiative that's so secret…I can't even tell you anything about it."

"Boy that sounds serious," Carter said eyes wide in anticipation.

"It could mean the difference in the war's outcome. If the Jerries get the information, the war might drag on much longer if not cost the Allies the entire war. My mission is to retrieve him and find out what information he's given out at any cost. If necessary, lethal solution has been authorized," Smith said watching the shock in everyone else's eyes.

"London can't be bloody serious authorizing killing a man if we can't get him out!" Newkirk stood pacing around the hut.

"If he's in Gestapo hands, it might be a mercy killing," LeBeau said leaning against the bunk bed frame near Hogan's door.

"I doubt that, this man is a traitor. He's most likely being treated well."

"A traitor?" Newkirk was infuriated. "Let me get me bloody hands on him. I'll make him talk then give him what he's got coming."

"Oui, I'll help!"

"Gees, it'll be easy if the Gestapo have him. All we have to do is make a call, write up fake orders, put on Gestapo uniforms, then go pick him up at Gestapo Headquarters in town," Carter said.

"You think this will be that easy?" Smith asked incredulously thinking nothing was ever that easy.

"Why not?" LeBeau shrugged his shoulders. "We've done it before and have a contact."

"You have a contact in the Gestapo. What is he a low-level clerk?"

"Nope, a Captain and he's been helpful in the past," Newkirk said lighting up a cigarette.

"A traitor," Smith looked at Hogan questionably.

"Wouldn't call him a traitor, although the Gestapo might. He's a patriot who loves his country, but not the ruling powers. He's been helpful in several situations and if possible, he'll do what he can. We need to be mindful of the position he's in, since he knows the full extent of our operations," Hogan explained.

"Yeah, no one thinks anything about seeing him in our tunnels. If you're down there, don't be concerned if a blond Gestapo Captain is hanging out," Carter said as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Smith shook his head in utter amazement, "Colonel Forbes did say you had an interesting organization."

"What can you say about this man?" Hogan asked understanding the man's shock.

"He's an RAFP Corpora…."

"You can't be bleeding serious? Royal Air Force Police Bobbie turned traitor?"

"Afraid so, ol' chap. He was on detail to ferry plans between the British and the Americans. Seems he started making noises about believing the Nazi propaganda and was relieved of duty until an investigation could be concluded. Two weeks later, important information was being couriered from one location to the next when they were ambushed. Two police officers were killed in the attack. One lived long enough to identity the corporal as the attacker." He stopped taking a long drink of the coffee. "The satchel taken has troop movements and strengths in it, so it's imperative the information is retrieved. We think he would use it as a bargaining chip and not outright hand it over to the Germans. Last intel had him heading in this direction, but now that's at least a week old. He could be anywhere in Germany at this point," he stopped gathering the words to continue.

"The information contains D-Day plans," Carter tossed out making everyone turn towards him. "I'm right aren't I?"

Smith looked at him in shock, even though he was exhausted he'd been careful in his description. How had the sergeant guessed correctly?

"Don't answer that Major. Carter, no more questions or guessing along those lines. That goes for everyone," Hogan ordered. "What else can you tell us about him?"

"Where did the intel come from?" Kinch asked.

"A well-placed source," he stopped looking over at Newkirk with sadness in his eyes then sighed heavily dreading telling the next part of his story. "We tracked him down in London and nearly had him cornered in the East End but he gave us the slip. He was the most hunted man in England, even his own sister was helping to lead the search."

* * *

"Pat, what are you doing?" She asked coming into the room knowing this was where her errant brother always hid.

He turned angry eyes towards his sister continuing to stuff paperwork into the briefcase. "I have to leave. How did you find me?"

"You always came here as a kid when you were upset. Please tell me what's going on. The things people are saying can't be true."

Patrick looked at his older sister, always the do-gooder, trying to take care of people. He'd tried to make her understand that England was on the wrong side of this war, but nothing worked. Unfortunately, she fought for the wrong country. Glancing back at the paperwork, he wouldn't let it be taken away this close to his goal.

"Talk to me. You're scaring me."

"Come with me."

"Where?"

"Germany. I have to leave now or I'll miss my chance."

"No, you can't go. I'll tell the authorities."

He didn't say anything, and with an exaggerated sigh reached into his bag pulling out a gun. "I'm sorry you feel that way." He shot her in the stomach watching as she fell where she stood. He leaned down kissing her forehead whispering, "I'm sorry, goodbye," before he took off into the night.

Using all of her strength, she pulled herself up, tore a pieced of her skirt off binding the wound, and slowly made her way out of the abandoned waterfront factory. She walked nearly a half of a kilometer before reaching a checkpoint looking for her brother. Major Smith saw her coming and ran to her. With her dying breath, she told him her brother's plans to swap the information for safe harbor in Germany.

* * *

"What's the man's name?" Hogan asked.

"Nottington. Patrick Nottington." Then turning towards Newkirk he said, "Peter, I'm sorry. Rita is dead."*

Newkirk couldn't believe his ears. It couldn't be true his mind screamed. His legs felt like wet noodles as they gave way, and he sank to the floor landing on his arse. His eyes burned like fire with hot tears streaming down his face, barely able to get a word out, " _Rita_."

* * *

* Newkirk states Rita Nottington is his girlfriend in the episode _Is There A Traitor In The House._ I thought she deserved a story.

Authors Note:

I started this a few years ago but then life happened. It's been updated and is complete now, but needs a good beta. If anyone is interested in betaing, please send me a PM.


	2. Chapter 2

"I'm sorry," Carter said as he knelt beside his friend who appeared to be in shock.

"Me too, mon ami," LeBeau said gently, sitting next to Newkirk.

Newkirk didn't respond as tears continued to pour down his face prompting Carter to put a hand on his shoulder. "Peter."

The Englander suddenly seemed to realize people were around, and pushed Carter's hand from his shoulder. "Leave off," he said sharply standing up abruptly and storming out of the barracks.

Carter opened and closed his mouth in shock. "I can't believe he did that. Doesn't he understand we want to help? I'm going to make sure he's okay."

"Give him his space," Smith said grasping Carter's arm stopping him from leaving. "It's a hard thing for a man to accept."

"Begging your pardon sir, but I've never seen him like this before, and I've seen him in nearly every mood possible. He needs his friends right now," Carter argued pulling his arm away.

"I've seen him like this before. He'll be back when he's dealt with the initial grief in private. He knows you care and are here for him. And he'll need your friendship and support when he's ready to accept it. Peter's an intensely private person and most likely embarrassed anyone saw his tears."

"How and when have you seen him like this?" LeBeau asked suspicious of the newcomer. Newkirk was their friend, and they knew better than an outsider did in what he needed.

"The first time he lost a loved one. If he wants to tell you the story he will, but I won't break his confidence," Smith said trying to stifle another yawn.

"Newkirk doesn't like officers much except for le Colonel. Why are you so different?" LeBeau asked on the verge of insubordination.

"LeBeau," Hogan said with a bite to his tone.

"It's all right," Smith chuckled. "We met about ten years ago before I became an officer. Peter doesn't hold it against me for becoming an officer _mostly_. He's had a few bad experiences and I don't hold it against him either."

"That's a story I'd like hear. How you met each other," Carter asked still wondering if he should go after his friend.

"Later. He needs rest right now," Hogan ordered equally worried about Newkirk but had a command responsibility to the new man. "Our room is in here." He led Smith into the private room. "The lower bunk is yours. When you wake up, we'll get you settled. Any messages for London? They'll be on the air in a couple of hours."

Smith took his leather bomber jacket off hanging it on the back of the chair. "Please tell them I made it and see if there's any updated information. Sir, I'm not putting you out taking the lower bunk am I?"

"Nope, prefer the upper one. I'll make sure London is informed."

"Awesome, I never got use to an upper bunk," Smith smiled grateful for not having to climb up top.

"Get some rest. If you need anything somebody will be around," Hogan said then left the room closing the door. He went to the sink filling a canteen with water then returned slowly opening the door to his room. Smitty stood in the middle of the room, his shirt off, inspecting the deep red and purples bruises covering most of his rib cage. Hogan didn't want to intrude but needed to know what happened. "From the bailout or interrogations?"

Smitty, who hadn't heard the door open, jumped, turned around surprised and embarrassed. "Interrogations, but it's nothing, sir." He wanted to reach for his shirt but the movement would have been too painful and too little too late.

"Anything broken?"

"Don't think so."

Hogan eyed him carefully making an assessment of the injuries; fortunately, the man didn't appear to have any difficulty breathing. "We have a medic who'll check you out later." The look on Smitty's face made Hogan add, "And it's not negotiable."

"Yes sir. If Newkirk wants to talk, tell him he can wake me," deep concern for his friend showing in his eyes.

"Will do," Hogan placed the canteen on the footlocker by the bunk which doubled as a nightstand then left the room. He had no intentions of allowing anyone to wake the man unless unavoidable, not even for evening roll call. Hogan remembered the extreme fatigue he felt after his initial interrogations which lasted much longer than Smith's had. He fingered a sore spot on his own ribcage that never seemed to completely heal even after a year and a half of captivity. Of course, their extracurricular activities might have kept the spot agitated. A place which Wilson was fond of checking every time anything happened to the Colonel, much to his chagrin. "No one disturbs the lieutenant without my approval. Is that understood?" Most of the occupants of the barracks had returned each answering affirmatively.

"Sir, what about Newkirk? I mean he doesn't need to be alone right now," Carter asked worry shining through his eyes.

"Give him his space. He'll come around, but if you want, you can keep an eye on him in the compound. Just let him have the privacy he needs for now. Olsen, tell Wilson he has a patient to check out when the lieutenant wakes up, and get him a Red Cross new prisoner kit."

"Yes sir," Olsen answered as he left the hut.

"Smith didn't say anything about being injured. Is he all right?" Kinch asked. He, like Hogan, had taken a liking to the man especially when he wouldn't talk behind Newkirk's back.

"Typical officer interrogation methods. He'll be fine," Hogan said then added. "Tell me when London is on the air."

* * *

Newkirk stormed out of the barracks not truly angry with Carter, but he desperately needed time alone to grieve. Rita's death shook him to his core.

Dead.

The word nearly stripped his mind. She couldn't be dead, not his favorite fan-dancer. Smitty had to be wrong. A tear slipped from his eye rolling down his cheek, which he didn't even try to brush it away. Right now, he needed a place to be alone, so made his way directly to the delousing station not responding when anyone tried to speak with him along the route. He easily picked the lock on the door, entered, and then locked the door from the inside ensuring his privacy. Not bothering to turn a light on, he sat on the bench, his elbows on his knees holding his head in his hands allowing the tears to flow. Sometime later, the tears stopped; he took a handkerchief from his pocket blowing his nose and wiping his eyes.

Rita was dead, the words played back in his mind. They had grown up together on the same street. She was the first girl he'd ever kissed, and later the first girl he'd made love too. Both virgins until the night after her fifteenth birthday, neither knew exactly what they were supposed to do, but figured it out pretty quickly. They weren't ever exclusive, each dating others throughout school, but she held a special place in his heart as one's first always will. At one time, he considered asking her to marry him, but then the war started and he thought marriage wouldn't be fair to her if he died in the war. Since he'd been a POW, Rita wrote him every single week, sometimes twice a week. Mavis and his mum wrote him, but not with the frequency of Rita. Each mail call had at least one and usually several letters from her. She'd tell him about what went on in London and her life keeping him abreast of the neighborhood news. Who was stepping out on whom, who was knocked up by whom, and who'd been nicked. The most ordinary news he'd likely have learned in the local pub talking with his mates, which gave him a connection to home for which he was immensely grateful. Not all of her letters contained ordinary gossip, some he never shared with his mates in camp because they were what he held onto when he needed to feel loved and that he mattered in this world. He laughed imagining the censors blushing reading those letters and often wondered if a few hadn't been hijacked fueling daydreams about the redhead who wrote letters which made Newkirk blush occasionally. Letters, which filled his dreams with desire making him long to be with her and make the words in the letters come true. He couldn't imagine life without Rita in his world.

Pat killed Rita. Anger burned through his veins at the news. Pat had never been normal, but he was the little brother that liked to tag along and Rita loved him so Newkirk put up with the lad. He'd known since the kid turned six years old that he was trouble. At a holiday celebration, a four year old cousin reached for a scone Pat wanted so he bit him as punishment. The bite took a chuck of flesh out of the boy which couldn't be closed up with stitches due to the size and severity. Now Newkirk wasn't a saint by any means, but Pat seemed off and different. He enjoyed being cruel, laughing about what he wanted to do to small animals and younger kids. When he was eight years old and Rita twelve, she heard the family dog crying out in pain. She opened Pat's bedroom door finding him cutting the dog open with a kitchen knife. Hearing Rita's screams, her parents came running. Horrified, their dad beat Pat for killing the dog. Meanwhile Rita held the dog in her arms as it died. She'd loved that animal and had rescued him from a storm cellar before his eyes had opened hand raising him. Pat's curiosity was to see the internal organs of the dog and cared nothing about the animal dying. Newkirk remembered holding Rita as she wept for her dog. He never understood why the kid killed the animal, but they soon learned no animal was safe around Pat. It broke Rita's heart to never be able to have another pet.

Shortly after Pat turned thirteen; a younger child was found murdered in the neighborhood cut open like the dog had been. Although unable to prove it, Newkirk always believed Pat killed the child. The murder remained unsolved to this day. Afterwards, Pat seemed to straighten up somewhat because Rita was determined he wouldn't turn into hoodlum. She spent all her time working with her brother so he'd learn compassion, which Rita had in spades. She loved people and animals. If anyone could have turned her brother around it was Rita, but obviously, it didn't work. Pat and Rita were as opposite as possible for siblings. He learned to hide his desires as he grew older saying he wanted to join the Bobbies. Most of the kids they ran with thought that made Pat a traitor.

Now Pat had killed Rita ruthlessly and truly turned traitor. Newkirk clenched and unclenched his fists, the news being more than he could handle.

This was one assignment from London which Newkirk intended to ensure succeeded. Once the information was safe, he would get revenge for Rita. One way or another, he would kill Patrick Nottington with his bare hands carrying out the lethal solution orders. He stood, unlocked the door, then left the delousing station; it was time to find the bastard.

* * *

Please leave a review and let me know what you think.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: I apologize for the delay. I had unexpected surgery and am now on the mend!

* * *

Carter found Newkirk walking through the compound approaching him cautiously, "You okay?"

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry about Rita."

"Thanks," Newkirk put his hands in his jacket pocket.

"How come Nottington came to this area?" Carter asked unsure what to say his best friend.

"I have no idea. Just glad he is, or I'd ruined Klink's perfect no escape record."

"What do you mean?" Carter asked confused as the men walked slowly back toward the barracks.

"Because I'd left to track him down anywhere in the world and no one or nothing would have stopped me," he said with a dangerous edge to his voice. "I mean no one. When we find Pat, he better hope to never be left alone with me."

"You don't mean that."

"I don't?" Newkirk turned facing Carter with murderous intent in his eyes.

Carter swallowed hard. "No. You're hurt, and that's understandable. But the Newkirk I know wouldn't kill a man outright unless it had to be done for the war. We have to get the documents back and make sure the Germans remain in the dark about that mission."

"Yes we do," Newkirk started walking back to the hut. _But afterwards_. Carter thought he knew Newkirk so well; there were things the naïve young man didn't understand. This wouldn't be the first time Newkirk killed as Carter described. If he remembered correctly, the man's blood was warm and took forever to remove from his skin. He spent hours in the shower long after the hot water quit never feeling the sting of the cold water. That man also took someone Newkirk loved dearly. Patrick Nottington's days were severely numbered.

They walked into the hut as Kinch climbed over the bunk bed frame, then hit the side of the upper bunk bed closing up the tunnel entrance. "How are you doing Newkirk?" Newkirk shrugged his shoulders. "If you need anything, I'm here."

"We all are. Anything you need?" Hogan asked exiting his office.

"Let's find the bastard that's all we can do for now."

"London has no additional information but will call us if anything breaks. Spoke with Bluebird and he's going to check around then come out tonight with what he finds," Kinch said taking a seat at the table.

"Keep me informed."

"Where's Smitty?"

"Asleep."

"Good. He needs rest. If you'll excuse me there's something I need to do," Newkirk said as he walked over to his footlocker, opening the chest, and then pulled out Rita's letters. He removed the false bottom retrieving the letters which he didn't share with his mates, secured the hidden panel, and then closed the chest. Afterwards he hopped up on his bunk rereading her letters.

The day passed slowly with Newkirk not interacting much with his teammates, he read every letter from Rita multiple times not always successful in holding the tears back. No one said anything pretending not to notice, but under the watchful eyes of LeBeau and Carter not a tear was missed.

The German imposed bedtime forcing the lights to be turned off was an hour earlier, but the men weren't in their bunks, instead showing Smitty around the tunnels.

"I'm impressed," Smitty said as they left Carter's lab and entered the wardrobe area. He browsed through their array of German uniforms. "You have enough resources, have you ever considered marching into Berchtesgaden taking out Hitler or the German General Staff?"

"Heck, we nearly took out the General Staff a few months ago," Carter said with goofy grin.*

"You're kidding? What happened?" Smitty was astounded.

"Complications," Newkirk said.

"Oui, like me nearly being blown up!"

"Only because my feet wouldn't fit in the trundle," Carter defended himself.

"The mission had to be scrubbed for several reasons," Hogan stopped the bickering before it went into overtime.

"Too bad," Smitty shook his head. Colonel Forbes didn't prepare him for how extensive the operation truly was. The tour completed, the men made their way back to the radio room as Bluebird came walking in from the exterior tunnel. Smitty wanted to reach for a gun seeing the Gestapo uniform, but relaxed a little witnessing the warm greeting the men had for the German.

"I'm Captain Fuchs and you must be Lieutenant Smith," Bluebird held a hand out to the newcomer.

"Please to meet you," Smitty said shaking his hand. _I think_ he thought privately not sure if he trusted the Gestapo agent.

"Where you able to find out anything?" Hogan asked as they all sat on stools encircling the radio room.

"Perhaps. Can you describe this man?"

Smitty looked over at Newkirk and Hogan before answering needing to ensure it was safe to give intel to the enemy. Both men gave him a nod. "Just under six-foot tall, curly dark blond hair. Last I saw, he had a moustache."

"There is an Englishman new to the area that arrived four or five days ago. He was escorted by the German underground in London to the head of the underground here in Germany. Unfortunately that person's identity has been elusive to date.

"And if it is the same person. Once we flip him, we can destroy the German underground in England and their backup support here," Hogan said shaking his head.

"It'd be a two-fer," Carter gleefully exclaimed.

"Even if it's not the same man, shouldn't we try to take both?" LeBeau asked.

"Not sure we have the resources. We could pull in people from the underground, have plenty of room to keep them both locked up here. What do you think, sir?" Kinch said.

"Have you seen this person?" Hogan asked looking directly at Fuchs.

"Nein, but I have a low quality photograph," Fuchs reached into his jacket pulling out an envelope. He removed the picture handing it to Smitty.

Smitty looked at the picture, shook his head, and handed it to Newkirk. "That's bloody hell him all right. Damn collaborator." Adrenaline surged throughout his body making his hands shake slightly examining the photo. He wanted to shred the paper doing serious harm to Nottington.

"What about the security surrounding him?" Hogan asked.

Fuchs grinned widely, "We've been ordered to ensure his safety until a special escort from Berlin arrives Monday."

Smitty whistled, "That's a good piece of luck."

"Maybe," Hogan said standing and pacing around the room with his arms folded around his waist. "What trouble will be caused for you if he disappears?"

"The Abwehr are supposed to escort him to Berlin, but if a special Gestapo envoy arrived Sunday with all the correct documentation nothing would happen. And Sunday night, Hochstetter will be busy," Fuchs said.

"Who is Hochstetter?"

"His boss and 'e wouldn't think nothin' of shooting all of us. Definitely not on the right side of the war."

"Sounds like someone we want to keep busy," Smitty said.

"Definitely. Would the guards check in with Hochstetter?" Hogan asked.

"Ja. Hochstetter will at our house as Lilly is fixing dinner and we're celebrating Fraulein Lisal's birthday**. We expect him to propose to her Sunday night. I'll intercept the call and make sure everything goes off as planned."

"What about guards? How many will there be?"

"Three guards including Lieutenant Kohl***, who is an obnoxious little bastard. When he turns the man over to the wrong people, perhaps I'll finally be able to send him to the Russian Front. As you Americans say, two birds one rock."

"What if he gets out of hand?" Smitty asked concerned with the plan.

"I'm confident Rob can handle the situation."

"Where are they keeping him?" Kinch asked.

"In the hotel above the Hauserhoff, room 212," Fuchs pulled out a sheet of paper from the envelope passing it over to Hogan. "That's all the details including the passcode for releasing him."

"Thank you. Is there anything else we should know?"

"Nein, that's all the information I have."

"There's one thing that's not clear," Newkirk said. Fuchs gave him a quizzical look. "Why is that bird still dating Hochstetter? You said she was a good looking bird, and Hochstetter is no catch."

Fuchs laughed, "A question many people ask. For unknown reasons, she is quite taken with him and has eyes for no one else. Although several suitors have tried to turn her head."

"Isn't there always someone for everyone," Carter said.

"Oui, but Hochstetter? Who could stand to get close to a man with no heart?"

"Love doesn't always make sense," Kinch said shaking his head.

"Thank you for the information and keep us informed of any changes," Hogan said as he stood walking Bluebird out the tunnel. Kinch, LeBeau, and Carter went back upstairs.

Smitty prevented Newkirk from going topside with the rest of the men since they were alone for the first time since he had arrived. "How are you doing?"

"Best I can."

"Yeah. I'm so sorry. If I'd known her intentions, I'd never let her out of my sight."

"It ain't your fault and I don't blame you. Rita had a mind of her own and nobody could have stopped her. She sure as hell knew how to keep a secret."

Smitty nodded his head; the guilt he felt wouldn't be resolved so easily, Newkirk not blame him for Rita's death helped ease some of the heartache.

"When we find him, Nottington ain't goin' back to London alive no matter what the Gov'nor wants."

"I didn't expect him too, but this isn't the backstreets of London."

"No. However, accidents happen in war. Besides, London's authorized a lethal solution, so with the right report they'll be happy to close the entire matter."

"I have your back anyway this plays out. Nonetheless, the information must be secured before either of us has a go at him. Way too many lives at stake."

"I understand and agree. But I will choke the life out of him with me bare hands," the cold hatred on Newkirk's face showed he meant every word he said.

"What are your thoughts on the _Captain's_ plan?" Smitty still didn't trust the German.

"Fuchs is a good man and I've worked with him on several jobs. He's good to his word and can be trusted."

"But he's a damn Nazi!"

"Something you don't learn while flying high in the air about the war is there are two types of people in Germany. Nazis and ordinary citizens who want their country back, and fight within the underground. Fritz is no Nazi. He's laid his life on the line more than once to protect us. And he has a wife and kid that would be murdered if they found out he's helping us. He walks a very fine line."

"What do you think he does while he's at work wearing that pretty black uniform?"

"His damn job and brings out great intel that we've sent off to Allied Command many times. Fuchs will reconcile his actions within own his soul when the war is won. He is trustworthy. I'd place my life in his hands without hesitation."

Smitty paced around the small room for a few minutes thinking quietly before answering, "If you trust him that's good enough for me."

Newkirk nodded his head. "Let's go up top and get some rest."

Hogan heard the entire conversation staying far enough back in the tunnel so the men didn't realize he was listening. Patrick Nottington had to make it back to London alive if at all possible despite Newkirk's declaration. He was more valuable alive so they could retrieve as much information about the German underground as possible. The bond forged between Newkirk and Smith was bound by something he knew neither man would ever discuss and unbreakable. Pacing around the radio room, running a hand through his hair, Hogan needed to find a way to ensure neither man killed the traitor.

* * *

* Episode – An Evening of Generals

** Lisal is from my stories Code Name Angel and The Aftermath: Hochstetter's story.

*** Kohl is from my story Shades of Family and believes Fuchs is in league with Papa Bear.

Please leave a review on your way out!


	4. Chapter 4

Saturday morning after breakfast, Wilson came out of the Colonel's room closing the door behind him allowing Smitty to get dressed. Hogan stood near the stove and raised an eyebrow expecting a report. "He took a heck of a beating, but nothing's broken. His lungs are clear and there are no signs of infection setting in anywhere. He'll be sore for a while and have restricted range of motion until those bruises heal. I'd suggest limited duty for a week or so, but as long as he tolerates an activity, he should be fine."

"By this time next week, hopefully he'll be back in London if all bodes well. Thanks for checking him out," Hogan said.

"Anytime sir. If you need anything else I'll be in the infirmary," Wilson smiled and left the barracks.

Smitty came out of their room, walked over to the coffee pot pouring a cup. Next, he sat at the table beside Newkirk.

"You've known each other for a long time," Carter said receiving nods from both men. "How did you meet?"

"Oui, that's a story I'd like to hear."

"Count me in too," Olsen said hopping down from his bunk and taking a seat at the table.

"Not sure I can tell the story it might embarrass me mate," Newkirk said with a grin and devious eyes.

"Then it's definitely a story worth hearing," Kinch said as he put away the cards he'd been playing with Baker.

"What do you think?" Newkirk asked looking at Smitty with obvious full intentions of tell at least part of the story.

"Go ahead," he sounded resigned and gave permission with a wave of his left hand.

"The night we met, a bloody tea leaf left him in his skivvies and shivering in the cold," Newkirk started.

* * *

Peter walked through the abandoned street, his head down determined not to cry. The chill he felt wasn't so much from the weather but from his pops; although he was grateful for the jacket, Mavis slipped out to him through the window. He kicked a can and then heard a moggy cry out in frustration. He investigated behind the restaurant's dustbin to find the animal trying to scratch up dinner.

"Did you get put out with no dinner either?" he said as he looked the orange tabby. "Let's see what we can find." He dug in the dumpster and found some cream and put it down for the cat who happily lapped it up rewarding him with a swish of his tail. Digging further, he found a half-eaten apple and cut the good part off with his pocketknife. Next, he found a dinner roll and part of a left over fish. He placed the fish by the cat as he sat on the cold ground to eat the apple and bread. "Not too bad a dinner for either of us." After the moggy finished his dinner, he rubbed up against Peter with a loud purr. "You're welcome mate," he said petting the soft fur.

A few minutes later, he continued walking aimlessly through the darkened streets unsure what to do. He learned the hard way to stay on this side of the tracks because the homeless slept in alleyways a few streets over and most of them scared him. Turning towards the Thames, he started in a direction he rarely wandered through hoping to find more food. Halfway down the street a moan emanated from the alleyway. Scanning around to ensure he wasn't about to be mugged, he saw a figure on the ground. The person moaned again, so Peter hesitantly walked over next to him. As he got closer, he could see it was a boy not much older than he was. "Are you all right mate?"

The frightened boy tried to move away, but couldn't manage more than a couple of inches. "Don't hurt me."

"I won't. What happened? Where are your clothes?"

"They took them and all my money."

"Come on, we need to get you inside before you catch your death in this cold. There's a place close by we can go," Peter took his jacket off wrapping it around the boy's shoulders as he helped him stand. The boy was a few inches taller than Peter, but Peter didn't complain as he leaned heavily upon him to walk. "What's your name?"

"Oliver, but I prefer people to call me Smitty. What's yours?"

"Peter. Me grams lives only a few streets from here and she'll know what to do. How did you get mugged?"

"Guess I wandered into the wrong part of town. Three guys decided they wanted my money. Tried to defend myself but it only made them madder, and that's when they decided I didn't need my clothes."

"You're not from around here."

"No, I'm visiting my grandmother for the holidays. I live in Philadelphia," Smitty nearly stumbled but Peter caught him before he fell.

"Never heard of it. Where's that?"

"In the United States. Thanks for stopping and helping me."

"That's what mates are for. You'll like my grams because she's the best. She was a nurse in the War, so she'll be able to take care of you. It's only a few more streets." The boys walked in silence the remainder of the way. Once they arrived, Peter knocked on the back door loud enough to wake his grandmother.

"Who's bangin' on my door at this hour of the night?" his grandmother's voice sounded crossed. She opened the door gasping at the sight of the boys. "What 'appened?"

"Smitty needs your help grams," Peter said tiring from helping the taller boy walk.

"Get him to the bedroom and I'll get some bandages," she moved out of the way for the boys to enter her small home.

Peter helped Smitty to the room he shared with his sister when they stayed at their grams' house, putting him on the bed his sister used. His grandmother came in carrying bandages and water. "Did you boys get into a fight?"

"No. I found him lying on the street and couldn't leave him alone."

She gently took her twelve-year-old grandson's chin in her hand turning his face to look at the bruises on both sides. "Your pops was drunk again. My poor baby," she took him into her arms holding him tight. "Glad you came to me." Smitty whimpered slightly as he tried to get into a more comfortable position on the bed. "Peter, there are some clothes that might fit him in the old trunk in the attic. I want you to go up and see what you can find while I tend to his injuries."

She cleaned up the older boy's wounds and bandaged them the best she could, then wrapped him up in the covers. Smitty was asleep before she finished. Afterwards, she went and put on the kettle for tea. Peter laid the clothes next to the bed before joining her in the kitchen.

"You did good bringing him here. In the morning, we'll contact his parents so they won't be worried. Was your mother home this time?"

"No ma'am, she was at work. Pops had a skinfull before he came home and then finished the whiskey. He said I was useless as I didn't bring any money in the house. Told him what for? Cause he didn't work much, what money he earned he drank and Mum had to support us. That's when he…," he didn't finish the sentence.

"He's a bloody worthless bastard, and I never understood why my daughter ever married him. You and your sister are the only good to come out of that man. Remember, anytime he gets in one of his moods, you're always welcome 'ere," she said with a gentle smile. The fury burned deep in her soul as she took stock of the beating her favorite grandson took.

"One of these days I'm going to be big enough to give him what he's due," anger filled his words. "When 'e tossed me out of the flat, I climbed to the roof and stayed there for the longest time, until he was asleep. Then I climbed down the fire escape to check on Mavis. He hadn't touched her thankfully. I was afraid to go back in until Mum got home, so Mavis handed me my jacket and I started walking."

His grandmother reached out and pulled him close, rocking him in her arms, as he sat in her lap. "I love you, you know that right?"

"I love you too."

She held him close until he fell asleep then put him to bed, checking on the other boy at the same time. The following morning they contacted Smitty's worried grandmother, who came to collect him. Smitty told his grandmother that Peter helped save his life from the people who robbed him to account for the younger boy's bruises. His grandmother insisted that Peter come to her home in a few days when both boys were feeling better. He and Smitty spent the rest of the holidays and all their summers following hanging out together.

* * *

"So that's how we met," Newkirk said lighting up a cigarette.

"Did they ever find who mugged you?" Carter asked.

Newkirk and Smitty shared a knowing look. "That's a story for another day," Smitty said. "What I remember most about our summer adventures was your grams' bread pudding. She made the best I ever tasted."

"That she did. And how mad she pretended to be when we ate it all," Newkirk laughed. "Her special ingredient made them the best."

"What was her special ingredient," LeBeau asked.

"Love," Newkirk said, a hint of a smile crossing his face.

"Which she had to spare," Smitty said.

"Does she still make you bread pudding?" Carter asked.

"Nah, she passed a few years back," Newkirk said as his body stiffened ever so slightly which didn't go unnoticed by his friends or commander.

"Newkirk, that was a nice trip down memory lane, but we have work to do," Hogan said sitting at the head of the table. "LeBeau, we will need Gestapo uniforms for you, me, and Olsen. Make us officers and you'll be the driver."

"Oui."

"Wait a minute. What about uniforms for Smitty and me?" Newkirk asked.

"I have another job for you. We need the documents written up to take custody of Nottington."

"Beg your pardon, sir but I aim to be in on capturing him."

"You and Smith are the two who can't be there. He'd recognize you and I want to get him here with the least amount of trouble."

"The Colonel is right. Pat would take off or fight if he sees us. Can't have him realize too soon that's he been had," Smitty said.

"I suppose you're right, but I don't like it none," Newkirk groused.

"Didn't think you would, but I appreciate your cooperation. Kinch and Baker, we'll need two round-the-clock guards posted. Make up a schedule and pull in whoever is needed."

"Do you want them in the cooler so we don't have to worry about roll calls?" Kinch asked.

"It's been quiet lately, yes go ahead."

"One fight in the compound later this afternoon," Kinch smirked.

"How do we plan on getting him in the tunnels, sir?" Olsen asked.

"Still working on that part. Don't really want him recognizing where he is."

"We could use a blindfold or a hood," LeBeau suggested.

"How about using the ring we got from Morrison? After he's in the car, shake his hand and he'll be out for several hours. We'd have to carry him to the tunnel, but he'll have no idea where he is. He's important enough that London will send a plane to pick him up, and we could use the same procedure. So if there are ever any problems, he'll never be able to give us away," Kinch said.*

"I like it. Carter, have Wilson fill the ring with a sedative. Enough for a several hours," Hogan ordered.

"Yes, sir."

"How long will we need to keep him here until London can pick him up?" LeBeau asked.

Hogan didn't miss Newkirk's eyes shifting downward. "Problem with him going back to London, Newkirk?"

"London really doesn't want him back, so why go through the motions, sir."

"The information on how he traveled here can save a lot of lives," Hogan said.

"We can get the details out of him right here. Smitty and I can be quite persuasive."

"There's information we need to get out of him as quickly as possible, sir," Smitty said.

"Yes, and we will interrogate him here. I don't think he will be cooperative, so if necessary we'll use the truth serum," Hogan said watching the pair closely.

"Fat lot of good it did with Schultz. Aluminum pans," Newkirk's tone ventured well into insubordination.**

"Is there a problem I should be aware of?" Hogan asked with a raised eyebrow.

"No sir, we should try it your way first," Newkirk said looking Hogan directly in the eye. The simmering anger behind the corporal's eyes bothered Hogan.

"Everyone has their assignments," Hogan ordered standing up and going into his office. He closed the door behind him running a hand over his face. How was he going to get through to Newkirk that they would not be judge, jury, and executioners?

* * *

* Episode – Bad Day in Berlin

**Episode – At Last- Schultz Knows Something


	5. Chapter 5

Early afternoon, Smitty entered his and Hogan's room. "Sir, am I disturbing you?"

"No, I want to speak with you. Have a seat," Hogan pointed to the other chair at the rickety table and Smitty sat facing his new commanding officer. "I need you to read me in on your mission leaving no details out."

"Sir, I'm not sure what more I can tell you."

"I understand for security reasons everything is compartmentalized. You won't be there when we capture him. Without all the facts something important might be missed."

"Yes sir," Smitty sighed understanding Hogan's viewpoint. His orders were need to know, but by his rational, Hogan required _some_ of the details to ensure the mission was a success. "The information is the decoy plans for the D-Day invasion. I have no idea when the job is planned for, but we both recognize how important misleading the enemy can be in a battle. When the battle happens, it'll be the largest endeavor of the war to date."

"Ambitious move, and hopefully well worth it. Where is the fake staging area?" Smitty hesitated and moved in his chair. "I need everything Nottington stole."

Smitty sighed, "Sir, you can see it from my perspective. If you're captured and tortured the loss of lives becomes immeasurable."

"We've both been captured. The stakes are high for everyone involved. Tell me everything, and that's a direct order," Hogan's command face stayed firmly in place.

"The staging area for the decoy is Dover for an invasion into Pas-de-Calais. And sir, before you ask, I honestly don't know where the real invasion will take place. Although, I'm sure we can both pretty much deduce the location." There was more, but he wasn't willing to share.

Hogan ran a hand over his face. "The Germans will expect the invasion to be from Calais. Brilliant plan. This information doesn't get to the men, including Newkirk," he ordered.

"Yes, sir."

"I need your help with Newkirk."

"How so, sir?" Smitty's eyes showing great concern.

"Right now he's hurt and angry. I'm afraid he wants to take out his anger on Nottington getting revenge for Rita. Although his desire is understandable, I can't allow him to kill or injure the man. He's not thinking straight, and I'm concerned for the rest of his life. Revenge might feel good for the moment; however, in the long-term, it will hurt Peter more than help," Hogan softened his stance from the earlier part of their conversation.

"What do you want from me, sir?" Smitty shifted again trying to take pressure off his bruised ribs in the uncomfortable chair.

"Talk to him. You're old friends with deep bonds. He needs your friendship right now. Newkirk has grown while in the camp. I've seen his defensive brashness soften as he's let people care about him. I image the original brashness came from deep pain earlier in his life."

Smitty nodded his head in agreement but didn't speak. He knew where the defensiveness came from and why Peter erroneously believed no one should ever love him again.

"Nottington will get his trial and whatever punishment the courts deem appropriate, which is our way. We're not judge, jury, and executioners. Our way of life is precisely the reason we're fighting this war. We are not Nazis. Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal, sir."

"Good. Get some rest, I have things to handle," Hogan said standing up leaving their room.

Smitty stood pacing throughout the room. Hogan was right. His own guilt and anger over Rita's death had temporarily overpowered his reasoning abilities. A lot of lives were at stake, even more than he originally believed with adding taking out the German underground in England. He and Peter were no longer teenagers, but grown men with adult responsibilities now. His mind wandered back to the time he and Newkirk killed a man, a boy really, the same age as him. At the time, their actions seemed appropriate, and the bastard was a multiple murderer who would continue to kill. The pair became his judge, jury, and executioners. The aftermath neither could have fathomed as all they could think of was revenge. Neither boy was charged with the murder, but the toll the killing took on their souls remained until this day. A burden which nearly destroyed Newkirk afterwards, causing his flawed belief he should never be loved again. He couldn't allow that guilt to overtake his friend again.

* * *

"How's the paperwork going?" Carter asked entering the front door of the barracks.

"Take a look," Newkirk handed him the just completed orders.

Carter read over the orders scrutinizing each word. "The Germans should hire you to write their orders."

"Yeah, me first order would be for them to lie down arms. The second to present old nutcase for trial," Newkirk said.

"Boy, I sure wish they'd follow those orders," Carter grinned sitting across the table from his best friend.

"Me too. Did ya get the ring filled with sedative?"

"Sure did. Wilson said it's a new sedative London sent, and will work within one to two seconds after contact with the person. Wish I was going on this capture."

"I understand why I can't be there in the hotel room, but I'd like to jab him with the ring. See his eyes when he realizes he's caught," Newkirk's eyes were hard.

"Maybe you can be downstairs when he wakes up and finds out he's in a cage. The guys are checking out the cell now making sure there's no way he can get out."

"Good. Might inspect it meself. I plan on being the first face he sees waking up, and the last face he ever sees."

"Peter," Carter hesitated trying to find the right words. "What do you think Rita would say if she heard you speaking this way?"

"The point is she can never hear me speak any words again!" he snapped. Carter flinched at his outburst. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to take it out on you."

"You didn't answer the question. What would Rita say if she thought you were planning to kill her brother?"

Newkirk looked down at the table mumbling, "I…I don't know."

"I think we both do," Smitty said coming out of his room. "She'd be bloody hell pissed. Rita always protected Pat even when he did something wrong. She might tear into him herself, but if anyone else did she went on the war path."

"He MURDERED her!" Newkirk jumped up in Smitty's face.

"I was there," he said softly, his anguished eyes meeting Newkirk's angry eyes.

"You said you had me back."

"I do and Carter's right. We can't tarnish her memory by doing something which would have horrified her. How does that honor Rita?"

"Bloody hell," Newkirk stormed out of the barracks with wide angry steps, he kicked a rock across the compound making it apparent to anyone watching he was not to be disturbed. His guts tied up in a knot, he needed a quiet place to think. Newkirk's feet took him to the delousing station once more. Without hesitation, he picked the lock, entered, and then closed the door behind him. How dare anyone try to calm his anger! He wanted to take his anger out on Pat beating the bastard to death. Rita deserved to be revenged. Smitty knew bloody well, what had to be done. He kicked the stool in front of him watching as it scurried across the floor. It wasn't good enough; he picked the stool up and swinging at the wall repeatedly until only tiny shards of wood remained. Emotions overcoming him, he knelt on the floor as his body was racked with sobs.

While destroying the stool in anger, Newkirk never realized another person entered the building. Strong arms wrapped around Peter pulling him close as both men cried. "Let it out," Smitty said with tears streaming down his face.

An interminable amount of time later, Newkirk's sobs subsided. "She was the best thing in my life."

"I know."

"He has to pay."

"He will. I promise, but the right way. The way Rita could accept. Do you remember her fury at Jude's death? How much worse would it be with Pat's death? Do you want to face her in the afterlife to explain?"

"No," Newkirk shuddered. "That's a might scary thought." The men sat shoulder to shoulder in the darkened room not speaking for several minutes. "I miss her."

"So do I."

"What do we do?"

"Help Hogan and Olsen capture the bastard. We'll both be involved in his interrogation. Then he goes to London to stand trial for treason and murder. We both watch as the firing squad takes aim putting him out of our misery."

"I'd rather put the bloody bullet between his eyes meself."

"Temporarily satisfying. Someone reminded me there's a war on. We're fighting for our way of life. This is our way. We're not Nazis."

"Sounds like a wise man."

"Definitely."

* * *

The hours until Sunday night passed quickly with the men preparing for their prisoner. Evening roll call completed a few minutes prior, found the men in the tunnels. Hogan, Olsen, and LeBeau dressed as Gestapo.

"You lot look good enough to shoot," Newkirk said sitting on a stool at the far end of the room.

"Good job on the uniforms LeBeau," Hogan said inspecting all three for accuracy.

"Merci."

"Everyone understand on their duties?" Hogan asked.

"Yes, sir," Olsen and LeBeau responded.

"Sir, are you sure you don't want us to go as backup?" Carter asked.

"No trouble at all, sir," Newkirk hopped off the stool walking over to his teammates.

"Thanks for the offer, but this job is best done with just the three of us. Don't want to cause any suspicions with the Germans. Kinch, what about Klink's staff car?"

The radioman handed the keys to Hogan. "Sitting in the usual spot, fueled and ready to go. The Gestapo flags are in the trunk."

"What are we paying for this trip?" Olsen asked.

"Five cents a mile," Kinch said.

"That's cheap. Why the cut-rate deal?" Hogan questioned, his eyes filled with concern.

"Plus two pairs of stockings. One for the motor pool sergeant's wife and one for his girlfriend," Kinch explained.

"Ah that makes much more sense. Do we even have any more stockings?" Hogan asked.

"One pair and I've put the other pair on the supply list for London. Told him he'd have to decide who gets the first pair."

"London supplies you with stockings?" Smitty asked as if he couldn't believe the conversation.

"Local currency. You'd be surprised how far a pair of stockings goes. Plus chocolate and perfume. Items difficult to find in the local economy," Hogan answered. Smitty shook his head in amazement.

Hogan, Olsen, and LeBeau climbed out of the tunnel, quietly traipsing through the woods to the road where Klink's staff car waited. Olsen retrieved the Gestapo flags from the trunk placing them on the front as LeBeau started the car. He then climbed into the backseat beside Hogan. No one spoke on the short drive into town. LeBeau pulled the car up behind the Hauserhoff hotel. The three men entered through the rear door leading to the main hallway. Carl the owner, expecting these guests, nodded at Papa Bear and indicated for them to take the stairs near the entrance to the dining room. Hogan ordered Olsen to check for possible dangers with a look and gesture towards the front of the building.

The sergeant walked the length of the hallway to the front of the business watching for threats to their mission. He spotted nothing and made the turn back coming to a complete stop facing the dining room. The Gestapo Captain's uniform made most of the patrons glance anywhere except in his direction. His face went ashen pale. Concerned, Hogan and LeBeau moved closer to Olsen just out of sight of the diners.

Olsen's eyes stared across the dining room into the brown eyes watching him. The only eyes in the town who would recognized him through the disguise he wore locked eyes into his eyes with anger shining brightly. "Sir, my cover is blown."


	6. Chapter 6

"What do you mean?" Hogan looked around at the patrons of the restaurant below the hotel wondering if this mission should be scrubbed, instantly spotting the trouble.

"For me to be effective as the Outside Man again, another person needs to return to camp with us. This won't take long if LeBeau can help, sir," Olsen's heart was breaking. The course of his entire life would play out in the next few minutes in that room.

Hogan nodded his head and LeBeau followed Olsen into the dining hall, half way through the tables coming to a stop at a table with three ladies dining together. Each man took a position on either side of a young woman with long brown curly hair.

"Fraulein, would you come with us?" Olsen asked as his Gestapo uniform drew unwanted attention from the other patrons.

"Why?" she asked in a shaky voice refusing to look him in the eye.

"Please," he asked softly holding his hands out for her to follow.

"I believe that would not be a good idea," Porscha said determined not to move. LeBeau moved closer to her.

"It's best if you go see what they want," her friend said with trepidation. The other lady nodded her head in agreement, eyes worried this was the last time she'd ever see her friend alive; hoping the Gestapo wouldn't arrest them because they'd dined with Porscha Herz.

"Fraulein please," his eyes begged her not to make a scene as her ireful eyes glared into his then looked away.

Porscha lifted her napkin out of her lap, folding it neatly then laid it on the table. Next, she picked up her glass of wine and finished the drink before sitting the glass back down by her plate. She stood allowing LeBeau to help her with her coat while refusing to look at Olsen. Clutching her purse, she walked in the direction indicated forgetting her gloves. Both men flanked her as they walked out of the room; Olsen led them to a small private area down the back hallway near the exit door.

He turned to face her, reaching out a hand to touch her arm. Porscha pulled back in fear as her body trembled. "I'm sorry."

"As you should be," she fought to maintain her composure, determined not make this easy for him.

"This isn't what it appears to be."

"Oh really? The Gestapo make their intentions quite clear," doubt shining through her eyes.

Taking a half a step closer, he leaned his forehead against hers. "All I'm asking is for you to trust me. I'll explain everything later. Please go with LeBeau. I promise you'll be safe. And then I'll answer every one of your questions until you're satisfied."

"Then what will happen?" Gestapo weren't known for being forthcoming and allowing people to live.

"You will be safe." His heart was shredded from the betrayal shining through her eyes. Whether she'd go home or be sent to an Allied POW camp remained to be determined.

Porscha nodded her head unable to trust her voice. The man she thought she knew, was Gestapo? It ripped her heart out. She couldn't imagine anything he'd say, which could change the hurt and anger she felt. She turned to follow LeBeau out the door when Olsen gently grasped her hand.

"I love you," he let her hand go but didn't miss the tears of fear coming out of her eyes.

"Cette façon plaît madame*," LeBeau led her to the car with one hand on her arm. Once they were inside the car, she spat 'Carlingue'** at him pulling her coat around her closer glaring at him.

The word cut into his soul, although for now, he wouldn't let the wound show. The critical nature of the mission and the team was down a man with a second prisoner to guard kept him grounded. He hoped this was the only hiccup in the job.

* * *

"Are you all right?" Hogan asked standing beside the sergeant as they watched LeBeau escort Olsen's girlfriend out of the building.

Olsen breathed deeply a couple of times before answering. "Yes, sir. Let's get this bastard before he causes anymore trouble."

Hogan observed Olsen to make sure his sergeant didn't need another moment to compose himself. Without speaking, Olsen climbed the staircase with Hogan a couple of steps behind him. At the top, they both turned right, proceeding down the hallway, turning left at the next intersection only to be stopped by a Gestapo private.

"Halt!"

"Heil Hitler, I am Colonel Hoganmueller here to escort our guest to Berlin."

"I was informed no one would come until tomorrow, Herr Oberst."

"Plans were changed. Are you in charge of a high valued guest?" Hogan asked looking around for the other two guards.

"Nein. Leutnant Kohl is with Herr Nottington," the private answered. "Do you want me to get him?" he asked as both officers showed displeasure.

"Mach schnell," Olsen ordered.

The private knocked on the door to room 212, explaining to the lieutenant the situation. Kohl came out closing the door behind him. "How may I assist you, Herr Oberst?"

"We have orders to take the Englander to Berlin," Hogan handed him Newkirk's fake written orders.

"There must be a mistake. The Abwehr are sending transportation tomorrow," Kohl eyed the men suspiciously, as he opened the orders.

"The Reichsführer has decided the Gestapo should have the information before the Abwehr, and has invited Herr Nottington to spend time with him in Berlin. Surely you agree with the Reichsführer," Hogan said with a raised eyebrow.

"Of course. It's just unexpected orders. I will need to verify with my commanding officer," Kohl stammered after reading the document.

"Do as you must. In the meantime, we'll prepare our guest for his trip," Hogan said walking past the lieutenant, and into the room followed by Olsen. He scanned the room finding Nottington on the couch near the window. "Herr Nottington, we are here to escort you to Berlin."

Nottington sat back studying the new men in his room before sitting his cognac on the table in front of him. "And who might you be?"

"Forgive my manners," Hogan said with slight bow of his head. "I am Oberst Hoganmueller, and Herr Hauptmann Derrick Wechsler. Reichsführer Himmler wants to meet with you in the morning."

"Really? I was informed he wasn't available for a meeting. My good friend Rüdiger has made arrangements for me to meet with the Abwehr tomorrow," Nottington sat back on the couch.

"After reorganizing his schedule, the Reichsführer has a few hours in the morning and is eager to spend that time with you. To save time and to guarantee you're in the Abwehr Berlin office for your appointment, we have been ordered to escort you to Berlin tonight. You'll meet with the Reichsführer at 07:00. The Abwehr will pick you up for your meeting with them," Hogan thought Nottington would have similar mannerisms to Newkirk. He clearly did not. The Englander was quick, and possibly a real problem for his team. Not that he considered Newkirk unintelligent, but there was something in this man's eyes which said every word he spoke, and his facial expressions, were calculated and controlled.

"I always believed the Gestapo was the most effective police force in the world. A force I would be proud to join. Possibly the meeting is an example of that effectiveness?" Nottington asked as he stood.

"Will it take you long to gather your belongings?" Hogan asked.

Olsen kept Nottington in his sights while he wandered around the suite searching for threats and the documents. Bluebird said three guards were on duty and only two had presented themselves. The hair on his neck rose in the midst of potentially dangerous discrepancies.

"Is there something in particular your colleague is searching for," Nottington asked turning towards Olsen.

Olsen stopped moving to face him, "Nein, Mien Herr, verifying everything is secured, and the local office has treated you with respect."

"Major Hochstetter is a likeable chap. Though, Leutnant Kohl is an idiot," Nottington said in all seriousness.

Hogan smirked, "I have heard a similar description made of the lieutenant. But in war time, sometimes you make do." He shrugged his shoulders; his mind attempting to process anyone referring to Hochstetter as 'likeable'.

As if on cue, Kohl entered the room. "All is in order. I'm sorry we will not have more time to speak Herr Nottington. I enjoyed our conversation."

"Perhaps in the future we shall have that time. Gentlemen, I am ready," Pat said with a smile. He walked over to the tree coat, picked up his coat putting it on, his scarf neatly placed around his neck. Afterwards, he took black gloves out of his pocket slowing placing them on his hands.

Definitely not someone to underestimate, Hogan thought. "Do you have anything to take to your meeting with the Abwehr? We will not be returning to Hammelburg."

"I travel light. The information the Abwehr is expecting is secure until the formalities are resolved," the traitor said stepping towards Hogan.

"Our car awaits," Hogan said indicating for Nottington to exit the room. He wondered where the stolen plans were hidden. As the four men entered the hallway, two Gestapo privates stood on either side of the door.

Olsen stopped observing at each man. He walked up to within inches of the man he'd not seen earlier. "Do you call yourself a soldier of the Third Reich and present your uniform in disarray?"

The man wilted under Olsen's glare. "Ne..nei…nein, sir. I tried to clean off the soup, but it made the stain worse."

"Learn to clean your uniform. Or better yet, eat your dinner as a man not a pig. Lieutenant Kohl, put this man on report!" Olsen ordered before turning and following Hogan and their prisoner downstairs. Olsen almost felt sorry for the private who was about to have a miserable evening. Maybe the next war, he'd choose the correct side on which to fight.

Hogan led the British Bobbie down the stairs, and through the hallway leading to the back door to the awaiting car. He opened the door for his prisoner gesturing for him to sit in the backseat.

"Hello Fraulein," Pat said sliding over in the seat next to her checking out the pretty lady. "It's my pleasure to make your acquaintance and to share this ride with you to Berlin. What is your business in the city?" He smiled warmly at her as he tipped his hat.

"Berlin?" Her hands shook at the news.

"Yes, these gentlemen are gracious enough to escort me to see the Reichsführer. I assumed your destination was the same. Am I wrong?" He unbuttoned the top button to his coat loosening his scarf, getting comfortable for the long ride.

Porscha's eyes enlarged with fear as she glared at Olsen who climbed into the backseat next to the Englander. "Safe in Berlin Gestapo Headquarters?"

"The Fraulein will travel with us. Nonetheless, her destination is different," Olsen said as he took off his gloves and twisted the ring on his hand. "Herr Nottington, allow me to help you with your scarf. It is tangled." Olsen moved the scarf jabbing Pat in the neck with his right hand as his left hand gripped the far side of the man's neck preventing an escape.

English eyes turned angry straightaway when the ring prinked his neck. He struggled to grasp Olsen's hands, but swiftly succumbed to the fast acting sedative. His head lulled sideways towards Porscha. This was too much and she couldn't allow them to take her to Berlin Gestapo, no matter what Olsen said, because people disappeared forever there. She tried to grab the door handle fumbling with shaking hands.

"Porscha, wait I can explain!" Olsen said as he reached over Nottington grasping her hand. The ring pierced the skin on the back of her hands as his hand made contact. Porscha's eyes showed utter betrayal as she fell unconscious from the medication. "Oh great. That just made things ten times worse."

* * *

* This way please ma'am

**Carlingue – French Gestapo


	7. Chapter 7

Olsen let go of Porscha's hand, turning his hand over looking at the ring. In anger, he jabbed the ring into the prisoner depositing any remaining sedative into the Englander to ensure he stayed knocked out causing no more problems. Afterwards, he shoved Nottington over so he could sit next to Porscha, holding her in his arms.

"What now, mon Colonel?"

"Drive. We'll sort it out back at camp," Hogan turned back facing the front of the car.

Meanwhile, Olsen caressed the side of his girlfriend's face, sorry evident in his body language and actions. LeBeau left Hammelburg as fast as possible without drawing attention to the car. When they arrived as close as they dared to the tunnel entrance, Hogan sent him to get help to carry Nottington. He turned facing Olsen in the backseat.

"Colonel, I didn't mean to stab her with the ring," Olsen said with panic in his voice.

"I know, and she'll understand. Remind me again Porscha's thoughts about the war."

"She hates the Nazi party and wants the war to be over, and can't understand why the world won't live in peace. And she's terrified of the Gestapo. Someone she loved dearly was harassed by the Gestapo and vanished one night. When she asked about her friend, she was told never to speak her name again. A Gestapo sergeant had assaulted the woman and more than once from what I gathered. She's never been explicit with the details. She was afraid of repercussions and dropped the inquiry."

"Smart woman. Which explains her reaction to seeing you in that uniform," Hogan nodded his head digesting the information. "Does she know you're an American?"

"No, only as Derrick. I knew I'd have to tell her, but I thought it would be after we won the war. And if the unthinkable happened and Germany won, I'd just slip into the world as Derrick Wechsler. Never imagined, we'd have the conversation under these circumstances."

"Not a conversation I envy. It will be rough. I might have to send her to London as a POW, depending upon her reactions," Hogan was gentle but firm.

"I understand. It won't come to that, you'll see, sir. I don't want her taking the risks of being involved in the underground though," Olsen was adamant.

"She doesn't have to join the underground, only agree to our secrets, and be trustworthy."

"She's trustworthy. If I thought she had any sympathies for the Nazis, we wouldn't be together."

"I'm sure she doesn't," Hogan smiled gently. "When we get them inside, Wilson will examine her as a precaution. Then you're going upstairs with the rest of us. It's late and we all need sleep. Tomorrow will be long and arduous."

"Sir, with all due respect, I shouldn't leave Porscha alone. Besides, I doubt under the circumstances I can sleep," Olsen said.

"No. I expect a middle of the night roll call and everyone must be upstairs. The men in the cooler will watch her, but you and everyone else will be upstairs. Do I make myself clear?" Hogan said with his command face firmly in place.

"Yes, sir," Olsen caressed Porscha's face then looking back at Hogan asked. "Why a roll call tonight?"

"If Hochstetter figures out what happened tonight, he'll make a beeline for Stalag 13. Everyone has to be accounted for so he can leave. I doubt she wakes up before lunch tomorrow."

"Hadn't considered him blaming us. What if he shows up in the morning and it's time for her to wake up?"

"We'll deal with that if it happens," Hogan said not wanting to voice his decision. If it came to that, he'd have her handcuffed to the wall so she couldn't wander around alone. The safety of the operation came first at any cost.

Newkirk opened the back door of the car staring at the unconscious man. "That's the bloody traitor all right. Kinch, you want to get his 'ead? I might rip it off his body."

"Sure," Kinch said, his left eyebrow raised unable to tell if Newkirk was serious or joking.

"I'll carry Porscha," Olsen said getting out of the car after they removed Nottington. He went around the other side of the car reaching in picking her up in his arms.

"Do you need help?" Carter asked.

"No, I can manage. Thanks though."

"LeBeau, take the car back to the drop off point and come inside as quickly as you can," Hogan ordered.

"Oui, sir."

"LeBeau told us what happened. Sorry she found out," Kinch said as they made their way through the woods.

"We'll work it out," Olsen said, but nobody missed the stress in his voice.

"Let's keep the conversation to a minimum," Hogan ordered keeping an eye out for patrols.

Once in the tunnels, Kinch and Newkirk carried Nottington to the cell laying him on the cot, while Hogan watched. Newkirk grabbed the leg irons securing them on the prisoner and then to the wall. Patrick wouldn't be able to walk around his cell more than three feet while restrained, but Newkirk believed that much was generous. Kinch laid a blanket over the unconscious man.

"Don't sleep too bloody well," Newkirk said as they left the cell locking the door. Turning to the guard posted he said, "I'll be down before he wakes up, so don't have too much fun without me in case he's an early riser."

* * *

Olsen carried Porscha to the area where escaping POWs and other important guests slept gently placing her on a cot. Wilson immediately examined his patient. "How much of the sedative did she receive?"

"A couple of seconds' worth, but it worked fast," Olsen explained. "The traitor got jabbed twice. I emptied the ring into him."

Wilson kept his medic face firmly in place grimacing internally. Although he understood the reason, he hoped the man would come around in the next twenty-four hours. "She'll be fine and will awaken sometime tomorrow morning. A full dose of the medicine will keep someone out ten to twelve hours depending on the way her body metabolizes the drug. I'll check on the prisoner now."

Olsen placed two blankets over his girlfriend while LeBeau who had just joined them found something to work as a pillow. "She gets so cold, and it's always chilly in the tunnels."

"She'll be fine," Hogan said as he and the rest of the men came to check on their guest. "I want everyone else upstairs and in their bunks. Tomorrow will be long." He herded his men towards the Barracks Two ladder. Olsen gave Porscha one last longing look before following orders. As the others climbed up, Hogan pulled Newkirk aside. "We need to talk."

"I think I know what you're going to say, Gov'nor," Newkirk said taking a seat near the radio.

"Do I need to ban you from entering the tunnels while Nottington is here?"

"You wouldn't," Newkirk appeared terrified at the prospect.

"If that's what it takes to keep him safe and you from committing murder, yes I would. And if you push me, I'll have Klink lock you in the cooler in a cell with no back door," Hogan said with a stern face.

Newkirk swallowed hard as his eyes enlarged. "No sir, that won't be necessary."

Hogan crossed his arms, "Convince me."

"I give you me word, sir."

"Normally I'd accept your word, but you're understandably angry with what he's done. Plus you've made your intentions abundantly clear. I need more."

Newkirk's face showed pain from the Colonel's words, but he couldn't blame him. He took a moment to gather his thoughts. "Rita deserves better. I admit I'd like nothing more than to choke the life out of him with me bare hands. Killing Pat wouldn't honor Rita's life, as she spent her entire life trying to make him a better person. She failed, but I can't fail her. Someone reminded me there's a war on and as satisfying as revenge would be, it isn't our way. The bastard must stand trial for his crimes. That's our way. We're not Nazis."

"Good enough. Let's go upstairs," Hogan said with a gentle smile.

* * *

Porscha moaned while raising her right hand to her throbbing forehead. She opened her eyes blinking until they came into focus to see a glove on her hand. Not her glove, instead Derrick's glove. Derrick. Gestapo. The night came rushing back, making her sit up too quick. The room spun as her feet hit the floor.

"Careful, not too fast," someone said. She looked at him, her mind taking a moment to register. He wasn't wearing a Gestapo uniform, but she didn't recognize the uniform he wore. Not any German uniform she'd ever seen. "How are you feeling?" He asked in English.

"Have a splitting headache," her throat felt parched.

"An unfortunate side effect of the sedative. Here this will help," he handed her a glass of water and two aspirins. He had a kind face, must be a medic or doctor from his bedside manner. She'd recognize a medical professional anywhere. "I understand your being dosed was an accident."

"Doubtful. The Gestapo rarely does anything by accident." She swallowed the medication and he must have read her mind because he answered her unspoken questions.

"About twelve hours. The headache and nausea will wear off soon. My name is Joe."

"Thank you. Umm…," she looked around the room.

"We don't have the best of facilities. The ladies room is behind that blanket," kind face pointed towards a rope with a blanket strung across one end of the room.

She removed Derrick's gloves placing them on the cot, then stood on shaky legs. Kind face helped her stand until her legs cooperated. Once she was able, she walked behind the blanket. Great, just great, she thought. The 'facilities' was a bucket with a lid on it. At least, there was a lid and nature called, so anything worked right now. A small jar of water was present for her to use to wash up; she rinsed her hands and splashed water on her face. After making herself as presentable as possible, she entered the room again.

"Are you hungry? I can have food brought to you."

Her stomach rumbled at the mention of food; she hadn't realized how hungry she was. She shook her head yes. He had gentle eyes. What did he say his name was? Sepp? Josef? No Joe. "Joe, where am I?"

"You have a visitor whom I'll allow to explain. Our chef will bring you something to eat," Wilson said as he left the room. She could hear him speaking to someone on the other side of the wall. "Bryan, she's awake."

Olsen walked in looking as if he was terrified of her and for her at the same time.

"Get out!" She picked up his gloves throwing them at him, her voice cross and angry. "I don't want to speak with you!"

* * *

Consciousness beckoned, but he kept his eyes closed listening. The room quiet except for one person breathing through a congested nose. No other sounds were detectible, which meant no machinery, no window for the sounds of the street to enter. Not good. A rough blanket had been placed to cover his entire body instead of haphazardly tossed on him. Someone thought he was important, and he wondered whom and if they'd be malleable. He lay on a cot with his hands crossed over his chest as he normally slept, indicating he wasn't tied to a chair, another good point. He moved his hands to his side smiling inwardly, no handcuffs. His legs however were chained. He could feel the pull of the chain as it left the cot, and he'd bet the other end attached to a wall. Limited walking distance might be an issue.

He still wore his own clothing. Another good point. If lucky, he was still armed but wouldn't be able to tell until he sat up. Nasal breather moved, must have noticed his hands move. Not being able to deduce any more information with his eyes closed, he opened them. The ceiling looked like dirt and the wall he faced also dirt. Was he in a cellar? From the corner of his eye, he saw bars, indicating a holding cell. He moved his hand across his jacket pocket, his knife was gone not surprisingly, but at least they hadn't discovered his other weapon. His head pounded as he sat up placing his feet on the ground.

His movement made his guard shift on a stool. "So you're finally awake," a smug English voice said.

Surprise showed only for an instant, "What the bloody 'ell are you doing 'ere?"

"Enjoying the sights right now. You in a cage like a zoo animal."

"Can I have some aspirin?"

"Nope, don't have any."

Last he heard, Newkirk was in a prisoner of war camp somewhere in Germany. An important bit of information he needed, was he still in Germany? "How did ya get back to England?"

"Ain't been to England in a long time. There's a war on and I'll be here until it's won," Newkirk said apparently satisfied with himself.

"Which will soon enough be won by the right side."

"Yep, the Allies," Newkirk said implementing the Colonel's orders.

Good ole Newkirk, he thought. Not only did he tell him he was still in Germany, but the two who had kidnapped him weren't real Gestapo. Wherever he was wouldn't be too difficult to escape from with guards like Newkirk. It wouldn't take him long to have the bastard believing releasing him was his own idea. He grinned calculating his next few moves.


	8. Chapter 8

"How's Rita?" Newkirk asked watching Pat closely, his face devoid of emotion. The Gov'nor wanted Nottington to know that he's still in Germany, and the bastard was falling right into the trap Newkirk set for him. He didn't have a chance against the masters of deceit and cunning with Newkirk or anyone else on the team. Give Pat enough rope and the traitor would hang himself. He'd gladly tie that rope around the traitor's neck.

So Newkirk knew she was dead. "Not feelin' any pain."

"Why you bloody bastard!" Newkirk jumped up from the stool.

"Perhaps you should explain how," Smitty said as he walked into the room.

Pat's eyes enlarged, seeing the American shocked him. He recovered quickly. With Smitty here, Newkirk must be involved with the Allied underground. Something he could use in his favor, he knew of a double agent in said underground. "She fought for the wrong side of the war. Explained the situation to her, but she wasn't exactly bright. Rita never understood politics."

"I suppose politics are your forte? Why don't you explain to us what she didn't understand?" Smitty asked.

"Interesting, the pair of you together again. Are you planning a murder?" Pat needed to put them on the defensive. He was unsure if someone else was listening and these two were only the warm up choir. Together they were dangerous, so he had to separate them.

"Sounds like a good idea," Newkirk turned facing his friend.

Smitty nodded his head. "Me too."

"What would your grandmothers say about you now?"

"Mine is proud of both of us. You, she'd be angry with and his would kick your ass herself," Smitty said with a smug grin.

Newkirk didn't flinch, always before the mention of his dead grandmother made him upset. This strategy wasn't working, so he'd change topics. "Peter, do you really believe you can trust your good friend there?"

"Of course I do. Trust him with my life," Newkirk answered defensively.

"Your life perhaps. Your girl definitely not. Smitty began shagging Rita after you were shot down. The night he gave her the news, he took advantage of her weakened emotional state." The look of horror on Smitty's face and the smug grin gone made one corner of Pat's mouth turn upward. Newkirk's face went blank. Yep, he could work those two against each other. Newkirk's volatile anger would turn them against one another, making the enemy of my enemy useful to him. "I tried reasoning with Rita to make her understand he was only using her. Toying with her emotions. Never understood how he could trample all over your so-called friendship for his own personal," he stopped for dramatic pause, "pleasure."

* * *

LeBeau carried a tray of food into Porscha. She turned around finding LeBeau there spouting, "You," fear and anger in her voice.

"I heard you were hungry. I hope you enjoy this, food is my passion," LeBeau sat the food on the small table.

"A Gestapo chef?" That confused her.

"Non, I am not Gestapo."

"But I saw you in uniform last night."

"Oui, you did, but you don't understand what you saw. None of us are Gestapo," he stopped when she turned away from him.

Her eyes darted around the back of the room. Nein, it made little sense. She was a prisoner; this was a trick. "I don't believe you."

"You have been frightened, confused, and are angry. It's only natural and I understand. When you called me French Gestapo last night, I didn't respond because we had a mission to carry out. The accusation cut deep into my soul because we will never allow the filthy Nazis to continue to control France."

She turned towards him, her eyes searching his face for the truth. "Nein, you are lying as _he_ did."

"Neither of us has lied to you. You recognized Derrick through the disguise he wore and the Gestapo uniform was part of that disguise. Last night Bryan promised to explain everything to you until all your questions are answered, the complete truth. Allow him to do so today," LeBeau was gentle.

"That's the name the other man…Joe called him."

"Oui, Joe is our medic."

"I doubt I can trust anything Derrick has to say," Porscha said softly.

"How do you feel about him?"

"I…I don't know," she turned away wrapping her arms around her shoulders.

He moved around in front of her placing his hands on her arms. "How did you feel about him yesterday?" She shook her head not understanding the question. "If someone asked you yesterday morning, how you felt about Derrick, what would you have told them?"

"I…I," unshed tears were in her eyes and she shook her head.

"That you loved him," he supplied with a gentle smile.

"Perhaps yesterday. But now…"

"Hold on to that sentiment. He's shed many tears since bringing you here. He carried you in his arms, not allowing anyone to help. Laid you on the cot, got his gloves to keep your hands warm, and placed several blankets on you afraid you'd be cold. This morning he held you in his arms willing you to wake up. As you came around, he let Joe be here hoping it would be easier with a neutral face. When you refused to speak with him earlier, I feared he wouldn't survive he shook so hard," LeBeau dropped his hands to his side.

"He did this for me?"

"Oui."

She sighed heavily.

"Let him explain."

"I will listen, but I make no promises."

"That's enough," LeBeau said with a smile and left to get Olsen. Porscha paced nervously waiting.

* * *

Newkirk left the holding area, walking past Hogan and Carter continuing on until they were well past hearing distance. He stopped where they kept their German uniforms. Smitty was on his heels, "Peter, I'm sorry. It wasn't like he said."

"I knew," Newkirk answered looking into his friend's eyes.

"You did?" Smitty swallowed hard unsure how to respond further.

"Rita told me in her letters. We had no secrets. I'm not upset with you or her."

"Wow, if someone slept with Mary Jane, I'd be pissed," Carter said unable to comprehend how calm Newkirk was.*

"We didn't have the same relationship you and Mary Jane had. Rita always told me about every bloke she'd slept with. I haven't been living like a monk and I can't be angry about her finding comfort in times like these. I'd rather she'd been with a friend instead of some bloke out to use her," Newkirk's face shown no malice.

"You're really not angry?" Smitty asked. He'd wanted to tell Newkirk, but the timing never seemed appropriate.

"Nah. It's old news. When I found out I was angry, but then I had time to ponder it over."

Hogan studied both men, unsure he'd have the same response. But then the woman he loved, their relationship was similar, only they didn't tell each other the details. "Yes, you are."

"Gov'nor, really I'm not."

"At least around Nottington you're angry with each other," Hogan ordered.

"Sir, I don't understand," Newkirk said.

"Me neither," Carter said. "I mean if Newkirk can forgive. Why would you want him to be angry?"

"He needs to set you two against each other for some unknown reason. Let him think he's succeeded for now," Hogan said.

"To see what he'll do," Smitty said following how Hogan's mind worked.

"Precisely. Throw disgruntled looks in his presence. Maybe we can use this against him instead of him using the situation to his advantage," Hogan said. "It's time I speak with him."

"Do you want company, sir?" Newkirk asked.

"Alone for now will be better. I prefer no one to listen in," Hogan headed back to the holding area. He stopped before entering taking a few deep breaths. As he entered, he nodded at the guard to leave.

"Well if it isn't my friend from last night. Changed uniforms," Patrick stood up facing the Colonel.

"This is more comfortable," Hogan said eyeing the man in front of him carefully. "I'm Colonel Hogan."

"Nice accommodations, sir."

"We like them. Need to talk about the information you've stolen from Allied Command," Hogan sat down on the stool.

"Excuse me sir, you have wrong information," Nottington sat down matching Hogan.

"Please explain." _This should be good_ , he thought to himself.

"I hate to imagine what you've been told," he stopped looking around. "I can only assume this is an Allied base of operations from the uniforms I've seen and an old friend being here."

Hogan nodded his head affirmatively waiting to see what the Englander would come up with as explanation.

"Sir, I've stolen nothing. I'm on a mission on vital importance from British Intelligence," Nottington's facial expression indicating he was sincere.

"What's your mission?" Hogan didn't trust a word the man said.

"I'm not at liberty to discuss it."

Hogan sat there not responding hoping to make the man nervous, but at least externally nothing fazed him. "I need more as I'm what stands between you and freedom."

Another piece of the puzzled filled in, finally the man in charge and someone who outranked Smitty. The higher officers usually liked him and he could charm them with little difficulty. Then again, the conversation last night indicated Hogan wouldn't be so easily swayed. He was intelligent and might be a problem. "Was given decoy information to leak to the Germans. It's imperative I complete my mission."

"Run it by me from the top," Hogan hoped to gleam something of the truth from the man's story.

"Sir, can anyone else hear our conversation?"

"No, I assure you we're alone. The men have their orders," Hogan said.

"How many men are in your command?" The size of the operation determined his next move.

"A few. I'm waiting for your mission briefing Corporal Nottington." Hogan crossed his arms, his command face firmly in place.

"Yes sir. I was recruited by MI5 to act as a traitor supplying the Germans with false information about a decoy plan. The hope is they believe me and Allied lives will be saved," Nottington tried to cross his legs but the chains gave him issues. "Are the chains necessary?"

A spin on the tale he hoped would be uncheckable by Hogan and his team. Not unlike something Hogan himself would try. "For now they are. Who recruited you into MI5?"

"Colonel Robin Sadler. I've worked for him over the last year and half. He thought I'd be suited to this type of work. He placed me as a courier between the Americans and British Intelligence to see if I was approached by German spies. I was, so we staged a scene where I liberated valuable information, and then made my way to Germany with help from the German underground. The bloody bastards are operating in England. They have a highly effective organization back home and we want to shut it down. So you can imagine my surprise to be so close to delivering the false information and then wake up here in Allied hands. Although, I'm comforted such an operation exists in Germany," he said watching Hogan as closely as the Colonel scrutinized him.

"Why would German spies approach a corporal instead of an officer?" Hogan's eyes narrowed slightly as he processed the information.

"As ordered, I made comments about the Nazis might have it right and perhaps England should go to the negotiating table. Said it in the pub after a few beers, and a few strategically important places; didn't take long for me to be approached, and for my superiors to put me on a watch list. In their defense sir, they weren't briefed on my true mission. They responded correctly when I made those comments. Once the spies made contact, I had to follow through to the end," the prisoner stopped rubbing his temple. Hogan looked at him questioningly but didn't speak. "Just a bit of a headache, sir."

"Side effect of the sedative. I'll see if we have anything in a few minutes. Tell me about Rita," Hogan ordered.

Pat sighed heavily looking down at his hands. When he looked up there was mist in his eyes. "Rita," he started and stopped distress on his face. "Rita is my…was my sister. I shouldn't have gotten her involved; she was trying to help me protect our homeland. There is a traitor we were trying to catch, and I barely escaped with my life. Unfortunately, he shot Rita down like an animal. He tried to spin a tale that I'd shot my only sibling. _I love Rita_. I'd _never_ harm her." He stopped rubbing both hands over his face. "Sir, I don't have your trust right now. But please promise me one thing," he asked with a tremble in his voice.

"What's that?" Hogan bent forward slightly giving the impression he believed some of the story.

"I've lost Rita and nothing will bring her back. She, Peter, and I grew up close to each other. I've always thought of him as an older brother. Peter's the only family I have left. Please don't let Major Smith murder Peter as he did my sister," Pat said pleading for Newkirk's safety. "Smitty is the real traitor."

Hogan sat back in surprise not expecting that request. "I promise you nothing will happen to Newkirk. I'll send someone in with food and aspirin." Hogan stood leaving the detention cell. He had a lot to consider, and a call to make to London.

* * *

* Mary Jane is from the episode Request Permission to Escape.


	9. Chapter 9

"What happened to your grandmother?" Carter asked as the three men sat waiting for the colonel to return.

Newkirk shook his head looking down at the ground.

* * *

Grams turned 56 years old today; he couldn't imagine living that long. At his age, his grams seemed ancient. Over a half of a century, everything she'd seen in her life amazed him, including living through the Great War. Peter never met his grandfather; he'd been killed in the war. Pictures of the man who Peter closely resembled, lined the hallway of his grams' house. She said he and Peter were identical souls and more alike than any two people she'd ever known. Why he missed a man he'd never met, Peter didn't understand. But he missed his grandfather. Perhaps because of all the stories his grams told him, and the character his grandfather had been made him seem alive to Peter. Grams was the stable factor in his short life, the one person he counted on and trusted. He could've nicked a better present, but it didn't seem right stealing something for the one person who believed he was worth anything in this world. He'd worked honest work to buy her a small bottle of the perfume she loved, wrapping it in old newspaper because he had nothing else.

The backdoor stood opened as he walked up, the light shining out into the night. The perfume dropping to the floor with a clang, Peter's mouth hung open taking a step into the kitchen. "Grams?" his voice strained. A scream tore through the silent night, the heart retching sound shook the teen not even realizing such a commotion could emanate from within his body. Shaky legs carried him three steps inside before falling to the ground as his knees collapsed under him. With Peter's vision impaired by the tears streaming down his face, he lifted her head into his lap, her eyes staring blankly into oblivion. Blood pooled around the body while the light from the overhead single light bulb shined off the instrument of death sticking out from her body. A noise caused him to look up. A neighbour stood in the doorway, a hand over her mouth, shock written over her face and enlarged eyes. "Me…me…grams," Peter's voice shaky and barely audible, and his body trembling.

* * *

"Oh Peter, I'm so sorry. I didn't realize," Carter said placing a hand on Newkirk's shoulder. "I didn't mean to bring up such awful memories."

Newkirk shrugged, "It was a long time ago."

"To find someone you loved like that must have been horrible."

"Didn't realize the human body has so much blood until that night," Newkirk looked away no one missing the pain in his eyes.

"Did they catch the guy?"

"He got what was coming to him," Smitty said.

"What's that mean?" Carter asked unsure he wanted the answer.

"What'd ya think it means?" Newkirk asked.

Carter hesitated for a moment. "Even as angry and hurt as you must have been, you did the right thing."

"Andrew," Newkirk said looking him directly in the eye. "You're absolutely right. I did the right thing."

"I knew it. You always do the right way no matter how angry you are," Carter smiled confident in his friend.

Hogan walked back into the area. "Is Kinch at the radio?"

"Yes, sir," Carter answered.

"Did you get the information Gov'nor?" Newkirk asked grateful for the distraction, as he buried the memories he didn't want to relive deep inside his heart.

"Not everything. I need to talk to London. Carter, have food and aspirin taken into the prisoner. I need everyone upstairs so we can talk after I get off the radio," Hogan ordered.

"Yes, sir, I'll take care of it," Carter said leaving the area.

"Anything we can do, sir?" Smitty asked.

"We'll talk shortly," Hogan answered heading towards the radio room.

Once they were alone Smitty said. "Carter is a bit naïve."

"Part of his charm. He's never to find out we killed Jude," Newkirk said determination in his green eyes.

"Rita is the only other person who knew. Jude had it coming, murdering three elderly women while robbing their homes. We did the world a favour," Smitty said. "But we're no longer children, and revenge can't be our justification."

"No we're not," Newkirk said looking away. He wanted no one to see that revenge still lived in his heart.

* * *

"Porscha?" Olsen said as he entered the room first ensuring nothing flew in his direction.

"Hello," she looked up from where she'd just finished the food LeBeau brought to her.

"We need to talk," Olsen sat down on the stool next to her cot.

Porscha crossed her arms. "You have a lot of explaining to do."

"I'm not sure where to begin."

"How about with your real name?" Her eyes bore deep into him.

"Yeah that's a good place. My real name is Sergeant Bryan Thomas Olsen of the US Army Air Corps. I was born in a town called Manhattan, New York* in the United States," he began only to be interrupted.

"You're not even German! Is anything you've ever told me true?" She stood pacing the room with her arms crossed. She was such a fool to fall for this man.

"Yes! Everything I've told you about growing up in Germany is true. My parents really taught at the university. I lived here from the age of three until fourteen when we left to go back to the United States. I love Germany and always considered it my home." How was he going to make her understand?

"Then why do you fight for the Allies?"

"Because I love Germany and I hate the Nazis. I want Germany to be free of their depressive rule. Growing up, I watched this beautiful country be changed from their laws and brutality. I can't stand by and watch the Gestapo walk all over the people or land," Olsen stayed seated trying to appear less intimidating wanting her to feel secure.

"Then why were you in that uniform last night?" her eyes appeared haunted by the memory and her disdain of that particular organization.

Olsen let out a deep breath before answering. His orders were to only give her as much information as she needed, but not to endanger the operation. His heart said to be completely honest with the woman he loved. "To catch a traitor. The Gestapo were keeping him secured until the Abwehr retrieved him. We showed up before the real escort, and before he delivered vital military intelligence to the Nazis. It was a ruse to protect lives."

"Allied lives."

"And German lives. Protecting the information will help end the war quicker. That's the goal. Rid Germany of the Nazis, and the Gestapo, saving as many lives as possible," he stood walking over to her.

"Do you consider me a fool?" Porscha asked moving away from him not wanting to feel the closeness of his body.

"Never," his heartfelt honesty clearly heard in his voice.

"Why did you ask me out? Was I an assignment?"

"Because you are the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. Your gentleness and your personality drew me in like a moth to a light. I couldn't stay away from you," he wore his heart on his sleeve with the honest raw answer.

"Where are we?" She didn't want him to be so charming right now, she was too livid.

"These tunnels are the base of our operations."

"The only Allies in the area are in…" her eyes grew large as realization hit her. "We're under the POW camp?"

Olsen shrugged, "Makes a great cover."

"The camp isn't real? How?" Her mind spun in the deception.

"No, the camp is real; the authorities upstairs are kept in the dark about the downstairs."

"Oh the danger that puts you in if caught!" she shuddered then sat down on the cot. "The man, the traitor, is he here also?"

"Chained in a cell in another part of the tunnels. He can't hurt you," the protectiveness Porscha admired shone through his posture and words.

"I am a prisoner too. There's a guard who won't allow me out of here, although I'm grateful not to be in chains. What is to become of me? I've been told the Allies kill and torture their prisoners. Is that man being tortured?" Porscha asked with a slight tremble.

"No. The Gestapo and the SS have been known to kill and torture prisoners, but the Americans don't. I promised you'd be safe, and I meant it," Olsen said sitting next to her.

"But safe how? As a prisoner in this room? Can I go home?"

"Not yet. The colonel wants you to have some time to understand the situation." He couldn't tell her what the alternative would be; unsure he'd survive her being in a POW camp.

"To find out if I'm trustworthy." It was all too much. He was so close she could smell his scent and it was difficult to not allow him to hold her and make her feel safe. Yesterday, she would have gladly fallen into his arms. "I need time. Please leave."

Olsen shook his head. "I understand. If you need anything, someone will be available. I'll come by later." He left with a heavy heart wondering what the following days would bring.

Porscha sat going over what he'd said, never imagining she'd be a prisoner of war. The situation dangerous beyond what she ever considered possible. If found by Germans in these tunnels; she'd be shot as a spy. She loved an American. Did that make her a traitor to her own country? Could she stay with Derrick err Bryan? She felt betrayed and unsure which side of the war should prevail. Or even which war she was fighting the Nazis or her heart?

* * *

"How did it go?" LeBeau asked as Olsen came down the hallway.

"Not well. Everything's overwhelming for her."

"What did you tell her?"

"More than I should have," Olsen said wondering what to do next.

"Le colonel will not be happy. He wants everyone upstairs for a briefing," LeBeau said as the men headed to the barracks ladder.

* * *

"Thank you for taking time to speak with me, General," Hogan said as Butler joined him on the radio.

"Have you caught the traitor?"

"Yes, sir. He's secured and spins a story," Hogan relayed what he'd learned from Nottington.

"What do you think?"

"This is the type of ops Robin would run. Can you check with him to ensure Nottington isn't an undercover agent for MI5," Hogan requested.

"I'll make the inquiry. Lots of people will be in deep trouble if this is a mission gone wrong, and a case of the right hand not knowing what the left hand is doing. Three people are dead who didn't need to die, and critical information is missing," Butler said.

"I understand, sir. Thank you. Hogan out." He terminated the radio connection running a hand through his hair. Nottington's story made little sense in light of the information he had, but Hogan couldn't take the risk of the man really being an MI5 agent on assignment. They took their assignments past anything Hogan would ever do. He had to be sure. He stood up from the table, walked to over the ladder, and then climbed up the entrance. As he closed the bunk bed behind him, he turned to see all his men gathered around the hut.

"Coffee, mon colonel?" LeBeau asked offering him a cup.

"Thanks," Hogan took it sitting down at the head of the table as the rest of the men took their seats.

"What did he say, sir," Kinch asked.

"That's he's on an assignment," Hogan started.

"So he admitted to working for the Nazis?" Newkirk asked.

"Not exactly. Says he's undercover for MI5."

"And you believe the bloody bastard?" Newkirk was irate.

"I didn't say that. I've asked London to contact the man who he says is his handler. He's an old friend, and …well… this almost sounds like something he'd do," Hogan said calmly.

"Pat murdered Rita," Smitty said disbelieving what he was hearing.

"Which is why I don't believe him," Hogan said. Nor did he think Smith was a traitor or Newkirk to be in any danger.

"Colonel," Carter looked at his commander with confusion on his face. "What's a handler?"

"It's someone who tells a spy what their mission is and supports them however they need," Hogan answered. He wasn't sure everyone else on his team understood the term, but suspected Carter would be the one ask.

"Oh, so you'd be our handler," Carter said pondering through the answer.

"But we're not spies," LeBeau said shaking his head.

"Sometimes we are," Carter defended himself.

"Yes, sometimes we are," Hogan smiled and a lot more he thought.

"The story he told, what did you think of it, sir?" Smitty asked.

"That I'd spin a similar story if I were in his position. He's cunning and devious," Hogan answered.

"Boy, he sounds like an evil Colonel Hogan," Carter said a little disconcerted by the thought.

"In a lot of ways 'e is, Andrew," Newkirk said looking at his friend. "Never considered it until you said it, but they are a lot alike."

"So does that make me the good or evil one," Hogan asked his face the picture of calm but inside he was chuckling.

"The good one, colonel," Carter's face and voice horrified his commander even had to ask.

"Definitely the good side, Gov'nor."

"Too soon to tell," the mirth on Smitty's face making everyone laugh, after all, officers had to have fun too.

"What now, sir?" Kinch asked.

"Our friend changes his affect when speaking with Newkirk and Smitty than when speaking with Olsen or me. Not sure why, but it has to be a clue. Newkirk, when I interrogate him again, I'd like you to accompany me," Hogan ordered.

"Me pleasure, Gov'nor."

"The story he's woven for me, I want to see how it changes with you there. Plus he needs to have confidence he's burned a bridge between Newkirk and Smitty. Until London comes back with an answer, we'll question him every so often. Keep him off balance. And limit whom he sees to the guards and the core unit, plus Olsen and Smitty. Don't want him to realize the scope of our operations. Any questions?" Hogan ordered looking at the face of each man.

 _Give me a few minutes and I'd have the bastard talking_. Newkirk's fantasy flashed through his mind and hopefully the colonel didn't see it on his face. No such luck.

"Newkirk," Hogan asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Just eager to back you up, sir. When do you want to try again?"

"Shortly. I'll let you know," Hogan turned to Olsen. "How did it go with Porscha?"

"The situation is overwhelming, so we're taking it slow. She didn't throw anything at me this time," Olsen said with a sad smile.

"Keep me informed. I'll have a discussion with her in a day or two. Is there anything we can do to help?"

"She loves flowers. How mad would Klink be?" Olsen asked half-afraid of hoping.

Hogan smiled and nodded his head. The difference in the two prisoners; one they all wanted to pummel, the other deserving flowers from Klink's prized garden. "Be careful and don't get caught. Spend as much time as you can with her, but don't neglect your other duties. That goes for everyone. Make an appearance outside so the Germans don't become suspicious." He heard a chorus of affirmative answers.

"Thank you, sir," Olsen was all smiles planning which flowers to swipe.

* * *

*Snooky9093 gave Olsen Manhattan as his hometown in The Outside Man.


	10. Chapter 10

"Carter, what are you doing?" Kinch asked closing the door to the hut behind him.

"Booby trapping Newkirk's locker," Carter replied with a grin.

"He will be royally pissed," Kinch said with a hint of amusement and his left eyebrow pointing towards the sky.

"For a few minutes and then he'll laugh. He needs to laugh." Carter placed the final touches on the joke.

"This might start a whole chain of practical jokes," Kinch had an amused grin on his face.

"As long as I don't get the blue dye again. That took forever to wear off," Carter said with a thoughtful look then added. "But it made Newkirk laugh for days, so it wouldn't be so bad."*

"You're a good friend Andrew," Kinch said with a warm smile. Wondering whom else would look good with the blue dye. He wouldn't hit Carter with it this time, possibly LeBeau. How would Smitty take to their joking streak? A blue officer would be hilarious.

* * *

"They're lovely, thank you," Porscha placed the crystal vase of white and yellow chamomile, and the most beautiful yellow daffodils, her favourite flower on the table. Klink's garden only had half-dead daffodils left in it. Hopefully, the Kommandant wouldn't miss the vase.

"When the chamomile dries, LeBeau makes a wonderful tea from the petals. It's calmed many a nerves," Olsen said pleased she smiled.

"He's your friend Louis that you've spoken of many times?" she asked. Olsen nodded his head yes. "Would it be permissible for us to take a walk?"

"Sure," Olsen said leading her out of her room understanding her pent up energy.

"How big is this place?" She asked as they took the tunnel heading away from the main area. Her eyes wandered across the tunnel where lights ran every so often giving enough light to see the pathway. An electric line ran between the single light bulbs. Arrows pointed in the opposite direction they traveled.

"We've joked about getting a train and turning this place into a subway station. If you stick to the back parts, you can get a good run in down here. Up front, there's too much traffic." He wanted to reach for her hand but was afraid to push too soon.

"The arrows?" she asked pointing towards one.

"How to get out in case of an emergency. Until you've spent enough time down here, you can get lost. As more tunnels and connectors were built, we found men became confused on the way out, so the arrows were added. Don't worry, we won't get lost and someone is usually around who can point you in the correct direction." They continued their slow walk, his heart glad to be with her, but as shredded as hers had to be at the situation.

"You said Louis makes chamomile tea to help others. I'm sure being in a POW camp has to be nerve wracking, plus your extra activities outside the camp. What all do you do besides being a prisoner?"

Olsen took in and let out a deep breath formulating an answer. "Mostly I gather intelligence, troop movements, and such."

"Is that what you're doing in town?"

"Or the excuse I give to get out and come see you as often as possible," he smiled gently at her.

"You've risked your life every time we've been together?" emotions flashed across her face, he could only read concern, worry, and something more. His heart hoped love.

"Every trip I get to be with you makes it worth the risks. I'm careful and my cover identity has held up under scrutiny."

She stopped walking facing him. "The longer the war goes on the…they…become more determined to find traitors and spies."

He caressed the side of her cheek with one finger. "You're worth any peril."

She wrapped her arms around her shoulders and walked again. "The other men, what do they do?"

"We have assignments from London, plus anything we can that will shorten the war."

"The sabotage in the area?"

"Sometimes. Not all of it though," he answered.

"I've seen the victims brought into the hospital. Most mere boys, children who shouldn't be in uniform…their bodies torn apart after bombs went off," the memories clearly haunting as she involuntarily shuddered.

"War is ugly. Politicians start war, never getting close to what takes place. Ordinary people hurt in ways no one should. I hate war," his voice conveying the conviction of his words.

"So do I. A few months ago, a factory blew up and a friend of mine's father worked there. He was killed in the explosion. Everyone working there were civilians. Did you have anything to do with that?" She stopped looking him in the eyes.

"I remember they were building cannons**. No, I had nothing to do with the explosion. Wasn't it ruled an accident? Something to do with the gun powder being stored improperly," he said.

"Officially, but there were rumours. Did the other men have anything to do with the explosion?" she deadpanned him.

"I promise you we would only hit a military target. I'm sorry your friend lost her father, it's a tragedy. The one good thing is that a lot of families will get their fathers, sons, and brothers back because those cannons will not be killing people," Olsen said. He hated to lie to her, but if he told her the truth, he would cross a line the colonel couldn't forgive. He heard both Hogan's and LeBeau's voices in his head to protect the unit.

She seemed to accept his answer with a nod of her head. They walked to the end of the corridor turning a corner. "What will happen to that man you kidnapped? What's his name?"

"Patrick Nottington. He will be sent to England where he'll stand trial for murder and treason. He killed his own sister a couple of weeks ago."

"Sounds like a dangerous man. What will happen to him after the trial?" she asked as they came to a ladder leading upstairs.

"Depends on the penalty the courts decide upon if he's found guilty. And he is guilty. Our job was to capture him, retrieve the information, and send him safely back to England," Olsen said leaning against the ladder.

She shook her head digesting the information wondering if trials in England differed from ones in Germany. A question she didn't want to ponder at the moment. "I suppose the ladders are to the surface," she asked and Olsen nodded yes. "Where did you get the wood to line the tunnels? They seem to stretch on endlessly."

"Woodland had to be cleared for the farmers to plant food for the war effort. The military uses prisoners to clear the land. Some of the wood goes to heat the barracks; the rest ends up down here to ensure against cave-ins." Olsen immediately regretted that last word as her eyes enlarged with worry. "We're safe. The engineers built these tunnels to be safe. Early on we had a few issues, but after we could get the wood there's not been a problem."

"Olsen, got a minute?" Mills asked coming out of a room off the corridor.

"Sure. Would you excuse me for a moment?" he said to Porscha as he moved around the corner out of hearing distance.

Porscha peeked into the room Mills came from, she saw a cell with the man from last night in it. "Hallo."

"Fraulein, are you all right? You looked so scared last night," Nottington said with concern in his voice.

"This entire experience has been frightening."

"Guess neither one of us ended up where we thought. Have they hurt you?" his eyes running quickly over her body as if looking for injuries.

"Nein. Are you all right?" she asked with concern in her eyes. She could see a tray with most of the food consumed on the table. A canteen, she could only assume held water lay on the cot.

"I am. What did you do for them to kidnap you? If you don't mind me asking," Patrick's voice was low, and he stood close to the bars.

"Saw something I shouldn't have. What about you?" She wondered if the stories would be the same.

"My crime is that I'm trying to help Germany win the war," he said with a sad smile. "Can you tell me how many people you've seen?"

"Maybe ten or eleven, no more."

"Forgive me, I haven't introduced myself. My name is Patrick Nottington."

"Porscha Herz."

"Pleased to meet you. At least they're letting you walk around," he pointed the chain attached to his ankles. She followed said chain to the wall where it was secured. Her expression made him reach through the bars and gently squeeze her hand. "It's okay."

"What will they do with us? I want to go home. My family has no idea what's happened. They have to be terrified," her voice trembled slightly. There was something about the Englander that was endearing.

"We'll both get out of here. Perhaps it's best if they don't see us together," he said. She nodded her head and turned to leave. He called out to her softly. "Porscha, don't worry, I won't leave here without you and will do everything I can to get you home safely to your family."

Porscha went back to the ladder leaning against it as Olsen and Mills came around the corner.

"I'm sorry that took so long. Shall we head back?" Olsen asked. She nodded her head yes as she slipped her hand into his hand. If she believed Bryan, she was a traitor to her country. If she helped Patrick, she was a loyal German. Whom did she believe, Bryan or Patrick?

* * *

"Newkirk, Nottington may try to make you angry, but don't let him. If he needles you about Smitty and Rita, it's okay to show anger. Can you handle it?" Hogan asked as they walked towards the prisoner's cell.

"Yes, Gov'nor. No need to worry about me," Newkirk responded. He'd handled the dodgy bugger his entire life.

They entered the room; Nottington lay on his back on the cot. His hands behind his head, one leg bent at the knee with the other leg lying across his knee to the extent the chains allowed. His eyes closed and a smile on his face.

"Time to wake up," Newkirk said hitting the bars with his hand, they rattled slightly.

"Didn't hear you come in, was day dreaming about a girl I met," he said sitting up. He much preferred Porscha's company to these two.

"The bird 'as to wait," Newkirk replied taking a stand next to the colonel who stood out of range of the bars in case Nottington grabbed for them.

"Too bad, she's a good lookin' bird," Patrick smirked.

"The decoy plans you were delivering to the Germans. Where are they?" Hogan asked.

"The fake ones, sir?" Patrick asked standing up.

"The ones you were giving them in Berlin," Hogan clarified not wanting to play word games on which plans.

"They're secured. The Germans can't get their hands on them," the prisoner answered.

"I need to get my hands on them. Where can I find them?"

"Not so fast. They're my leverage," he looked amused.

"You bloody bastard, tell the Gov'nor what he wants to know!"

"Why should I? What's 'e done for me?" Pat threw back at Newkirk. He'd never known Newkirk call anyone a Gov'nor in his life. He was unsure what to make of it.

Hogan put a hand on Newkirk's arm to calm him. "If we're on the same side, why do you need leverage?"

"Because, I intend upon carrying out my mission and the Germans will need to get that information. What do the Germans think happened to me?" Nottington asked.

"No idea," Hogan paced in front of the cell.

"I 'ave a question. If you were on a mission for MI5 then why did you kill the Bobbies transporting the information?"

"What you're talkin' about," he said with confusion on his face.

"The MPs transporting the information you stole were murdered," Hogan clarified wondering why Nottington's speech pattern changed when he spoke to Newkirk. Which was real? He'd bet the cockney accent that came out was the true Nottington. A piece of information Hogan would use to his advantage.

"Sir, I knocked them out, but they were alive and breathing when I left. Had to make the spies who were watching me believe the information I had was real. If something happened to them after I left, I'm not aware. Possibly the traitor we discussed earlier is at fault," the Englander said wondering if Hogan had doubts about Smitty yet.

"Where is the information so we can ensure its safety?" Hogan asked once more.

"Not so fast, sir. I'm still a prisoner, and as I'm the only person who has the location I need to be released."

Before Hogan could answer, Smitty walked into the room. Newkirk threw him a glare that should have done serious harm. Smitty swallowed hard before speaking, his eyes diverting downward for a second. Nottington enjoyed seeing the rift between the friends.

"Sir, an honoured guest has arrived," Smitty said looking directly at Hogan not allowing the smirk he had inside for the misdirection to Nottington show.

"I thought I was the honoured guest," Nottington said.

"You wish," Newkirk said sarcastically as he and Hogan followed Smitty out of the area.

"Who's this honoured guest?" Hogan asked once they were out of hearing range.

"Hochstetter and two other Gestapo just came into camp," Smitty replied.

"Great," Hogan ran a hand over his face. "That's all we need today."

* * *

*My story A Day at Stalag 13

** Episode Swing Shift


	11. Chapter 11

"Colonel Hogan, how good of you to join us," Hochstetter said with a smile that looked like a grinning hyena about to devour its prey. He stood next to the door as Hogan walked inside the Kommandant's office.

"Major. Captain," Hogan acknowledged Hochstetter and Fuchs, who stood near the window in the office. "You wanted to see me Kommandant?"

"I wanted to see you, Hogan," Hochstetter said as he closed the door circling around the back of Hogan making the colonel move closer to Klink's desk.

"I didn't realize you cared so much, major," came Hogan's flippant response.

"Show respect when you're talking to an officer of a superior race," Fuchs said in tone that caused Klink to cringe. His steel-blue eyes bore dangerous daggers into the Allied Colonel.

"I'll remember that when I meet such a race," Hogan said. Fuchs took a menacing step towards Hogan, who took two steps backwards.

Hochstetter raised a hand stopping his second in command. "The colonel's arrogance will end soon."

"What is this all about?" Klink asked bile rising in his throat.

"Yes, I'm curious too," Hogan wrapped his arms around himself in a nonchalant attitude. Fuchs took another step closer to him, but Hogan held his ground matching Fuchs' stare for a moment then looked downward. Fuchs's left pinky finger was bent upwards indicating this was nothing to worry about in his opinion. How the man bent his pinky finger the way most people bent their index finger, Hogan never understood. He'd tried many times to emulate the posture but wasn't able to bend his pinky without one or more of his other fingers bending at the same time. The friends created the code shortly after meeting.

Hochstetter smirked at Hogan giving in to Fuchs's stare. The captain stood a good eight inches taller than his boss stood, and could be quite intimidating. Hogan would stand up to Hochstetter, but sometimes Fuchs' ability to intimidate made Hogan back down, which was why the major brought his second in command on these trips. "A person of interest was removed from Gestapo custody last night."

"Sorry to hear you lost a prisoner. Not sure how I can help you though," Hogan said facing the major.

"I didn't say he was a prisoner. However, the man who took him will be a prisoner of mine shortly," Hochstetter continued walking around the office, almost as if he was too excited to stand still.

"You lost another person in your custody?" Klink sounded gleeful nearly laughing.

"Not for long," Hochstetter glared at the Kommandant.

"Of course not," Klink wilted under the stare.

"Why did you want to see me major?" Hogan asked.

"There were witnesses to the kidnapping, and the description fits Colonel Hogan. When did you shave off your moustache?" Hochstetter asked.

"Colonel Hogan has never had a moustache. I spoke with him after roll call last evening and you can see he doesn't have one now," Klink said. Hogan nodded his head in agreement grateful last night he wasn't wearing a moustache. They'd darkened his skin and applied makeup giving him several scars so no true identification was possible.

Hochstetter ignored Klink. "They're easily applied for short term use. Would you like to confess now or wait until the witness identifies you?"

Hogan rubbed his chin with his thumb and fore finger appearing to be in deep thought. "Gee, I have nothing to confess. Unless…"

"Yes," Hochstetter said, his eyes bright with anticipation. "Unless what?"

"I hate to be the one to tell you, but someone should. The skull and crossbones on your uniform just doesn't give the right appearance. Someone will believe you're not a nice group of people," Hogan said shaking his head.

Fuchs raised a hand as if to strike Hogan for the remark.

"Captain!" Klink yelled. "Control yourself or I'll have you escorted out of my camp." Fuchs put his arm down with a scowl on his face.

Obviously, Fuchs needed the brownie points with his boss to make this work, which Hogan understood. He gave Fuchs a preplanned signal. Fuchs tilted his head sideways agreeing the plan was necessary, but it didn't make the captain feel any better about his next actions. Hogan indicated he would play along and make what was to come seem much worse than reality.

"You won't be so insolent in a moment," Hochstetter smirked. He walked to the closed office door and then opened it. "Private, come here." A young private entered whom Hogan recognized him as a guard from last night. "Is this the man who took Herr Nottington?"

"Nein, Herr Major."

"NEIN?" Hochstetter yelled. "What do you mean nein?"

"The man was smaller, younger and his hair shorter," the private said.

"Take a closer look and make sure," Hochstetter ordered.

The private moved nearer to Hogan looking him over carefully. "I'm sorry Herr Major, but this man is much older, taller, and his eyes are the wrong colour of brown."

Hogan let out a breath he'd held unconsciously. Olsen berated the private for spilling soup on his uniform, and the man only remembered Olsen. Fuchs must have chosen who came out to identify Hogan. Without an identification, Fuchs needed the leverage to ensure the other two weren't brought out. One of them might recognize Hogan. Now everything was making sense, and he'd play along his part in the ruse.

"Wait in the car!" Hochstetter ordered in an angry tone. The private meekly left the office.

"Your man didn't recognize Hogan because he wasn't there. No one gets out of camp without my knowledge. I suggest you leave," Klink said braver than he felt.

"Major, you need a hobby. You give me too much credit. If I escaped, I'd never return. Shouldn't that be obvious to you?" Hogan said condescendingly.

"Hooooogan," Klink's tone warned the American to stop before he got in trouble.

"Do not speak disrespectfully to the major!" Fuchs defended his boss.

"I'm just saying it only makes sense," Hogan continued.

"One of these days you will go too far," Hochstetter sneered.

"I get it. You have to make it look good for the boss. If they're gonna buy your fixation on me, then we'll have no problems winning the war. Sounds like you and the German command could use a few lessons in logic," Hogan laughed.

" _Hoogan_ ," Hochstetter gritted his teeth.

In one swift move, Fuchs punched Hogan in the gut knocking the wind out of the man. With an 'oomph' Hogan doubled over. Another punch to his upper body had Hogan falling backwards on the floor overturning a chair. "You will learn respect for the Gestapo," Fuchs said making his way over to kick the downed prisoner.

"HALT!" Klink yelled. Fuchs froze in mid stride. "Major, take your man and leave my camp! You're not allowed back in here without written permission from General Burkhalter, whom I will be calling."

With a huge grin on his face at seeing Hogan on the floor, Hochstetter put a hand on Fuchs' arm. "Come captain. We've done enough for today." They both turned leaving the office. As they exited the exterior door, Hochstetter could be heard saying. "How about a beer?"

"Hogan," Klink leaned down by the American obvious concern in his voice, the prisoner's eyes were closed and his breathing shallow.

"What happened Herr Kommandant?" Schultz asked from the doorway his eyes enlarged with worry.

"Schultz, bring Sergeant Wilson here at once," Klink ordered.

"Jawohl."

"I'm all right. I don't need a medic," Hogan said rolling over on his back and rubbing his chest.

Klink helped Hogan sit up. "I always feared your mouth would get you in trouble one day and it has. Why do you insist upon antagonizing the Gestapo? Hochstetter is bad enough, but his trained dog is the worst. Even Hochstetter can barely control him."

"Well you know me, Kommandant," Hogan said with a sly grin.

"Only too well. I should have you thrown in the cooler for a week," Klink's face was hard. He'd been scared Hogan was seriously injured, and he'd be blamed. Burkhalter would send him to the Russian Front for allowing the Gestapo to harm a prisoner.

Hogan grimaced as he stood up catching his breath. He slowly sat down in the chair Schultz picked up off the floor. The sergeant left closing the door.

Klink's adrenaline rush was wearing off, as he sat in his chair, making him shake. "What am I to do with you?"

"I agree with you. Fuchs is one hothead without a sense of humour. How was I to know he'd react that way," Hogan rubbed his ribs gingerly.

"I hope you've learned your lesson. However, I'm still confining you to the barracks for two days," Klink said as he stood walking to his side table. He poured two drinks, then handed one to Hogan before sitting down in his chair again.

"I don't deserve two days confinement," Hogan said drinking half the glass in one shot.

"You deserve a week, a month! Just for the amount of paperwork this has created. Get out of here and I need the medic's report in two hours for General Burkhalter." The look on Hogan's face made him add. "Or I can confine you to the cooler and have him examine you there."

"No sir, that won't be necessary," Hogan said, pleased Klink would contact the General. "Kommandant, thank you for stopping him."

"You're welcome. Now go before I change my mind about the cooler," Klink ordered. Hogan might protest his confinement as unfair, but Klink believed it would give the colonel time to heal, and help Hogan save face in front of his men.

Hogan finished his drink, then stood giving Klink a little better than normal salute before leaving the office. He nodded at Schultz that everything was all right as he left the building. Since the Gestapo couldn't return, he was free to deal with Nottington. The confinement allowed him to be in the tunnel for hours without Klink worrying where Hogan was. Things worked out nicely, he'd tell Fuchs thanks the next time they saw each other. Now to deal with his men; the door to the barracks opened as he approached. Every man wore an identical expression, a mixture of fury and fear.

"What the bloody hell got into Fuchs?" Newkirk's angry voice rose above the rest.

"No kraut can be trusted," Smitty said vindicated in his hesitation of the captain.

Hogan held his hands up to quieten them. "I'm fine. No damage was done. Fuchs explained why and that display rid us of the Gestapo for a while. We gave the impression it was worse for appearance sake."

"Sir, we were listening and Fuchs said little," Kinch said.

"Used hand signals we've worked out. Appreciate that everyone is worried, but seriously, my six-year-old niece hits harder than Fuchs hit me. I'm all right," Hogan tried to placate them.

"I'll be the judge of that," Wilson said stepping out from behind Kinch.

"No need to waste your time," Hogan said in his command voice. He suspected Wilson would already be in the hut.

"As I understand, Klink ordered a report from me in two hours. Have to examine you to write the report. Plus the exam will calm the men," Wilson said holding his ground. He moved so the colonel could enter his room.

"Under great protest and only for the report," Hogan rolled his eyes realizing he wouldn't get out of this one. He followed the medic into his office closing the door behind them.

A half hour later, both men exited Hogan's office. Wilson informed the men there was no serious damage and they could all relax. His official report would state otherwise.

Hogan took a cup of coffee from LeBeau sitting down at the table. "Newkirk, I need your help with Nottington tomorrow. Are you ready to turn the tables on him?"

"Anytime Gov'nor," he replied with a wicked grin.


	12. Chapter 12

Newkirk sat slouched on the bench in front of the barracks, his back at an angle with his head laying against the building, his legs spread wide in front, and his hands clasped lightly behind his head. The men playing a game of soccer in front of the building, but Schultz doubted the Englander even saw the movement. He continued to study the blue clad corporal before walking over and sitting down beside him.

"Newkirk?" Schultz said after a moment of not being noticed.

Newkirk was startled as he sat up straight. "Blimey, where did you come from? You could give a man a heart attack sneaking up on 'im."

"I sat down a few minutes ago. You didn't notice," Schultz said gently.

Newkirk sighed, shrugging his shoulders, "Sorry."

"What's going on with you? You've been sad for days," concern shown on the large sergeant's face.

"Nothin'."

"Newkirk," Schultz said with a knowing look. "I can tell when a man is in pain. Tell Schultzie, what's wrong."

"Do you remember the RAF transit prisoners who came through last week?"

"Ja. Do you miss them?"

"Nah, but I knew one. We grew up together. He gave me some bad news about someone we grew up with," Newkirk said trying to keep his voice even.

"Oh, I'm sorry. It's hard to lose a friend. Was he shot down?"

"Was a bird. Liked her a lot."

"That's terrible. Many innocent people are being hurt by the bombs. Sooner the war is over, the better," Schultz put a comforting hand on Newkirk's arm.

"Thanks. It wasn't a bomb, but the war killed her."

"You're not considering doing anything dumb like trying to escape to go to her funeral, are you?" Schultz raised his eyebrow.

"No, that was a while back. Nothing I can do for her now," Newkirk lowered his head blinking his eyes to keep the moisture away.

"Can I do anything for you?"

"I'd just like to be alone for a while. I'm not planning an escape. Promise. Just remembering the times we had together," Newkirk managed a weak smile.

"Okay. If you decide you want company, I'm around," Schultz said standing up and walking away feeling sad for the Englander he considered a friend.

"Whatcha doing?" Carter asked coming out of the barracks, closing the door behind him a moment later. He took a seat next to his best friend, having overheard Schultz's conversation.

"Nothin," Newkirk said melancholically shifting slight for Carter to sit on the bench.

Carter studied his friend who kept staring unseeing into the compound. After several quiet moments, he asked. "Tell me a story about you and Rita."

"Why?"

"I want to hear more about her," Carter said trying to sound causal. If Newkirk suspected his true motives his mate would shut down, but Newkirk needed to work through his grief. Talking about his girl was a good start.

Newkirk shifted for a moment, "I remember the day the war started."

* * *

"You look beautiful," Peter kissed Rita on the cheek as she met him down the street from her home. "Is that new?" He eyed the red dress that defined her curves in ways he admired. The dress had buttons lining down the front, and he thought how much fun unbuttoning the dress would be as he followed the skirt down to show her legs.

"Yes, I've been working on it all summer to get it right to wear for fall. Not as quick a seamstress as my grandma, although she helped me with it," Rita smiled the smile that drove Newkirk out of his mind. "Do you really like it?"

"I do," Peter suggestively wagged his eyebrows.

"If war comes, this may be the last new thing I have for a while," she said with a hint of anxiety in her eyes.

"Doubt the war would last long," Peter said shrugging his shoulders.

"You mean Germany will do to England what it did to Czechoslovakia?" she asked with suspicious and fearful eyes.

"Nah, we'd wipe them out of the land and this time hoist the Union Jack over Germany within a few months," Peter said then added in a comic tone. "If Germany has a Stone of Scone like the Scots, then King George will be sittin' on it before the end of the year." Rita laughed heartily at his antics, which made Peter's grin wider. He accomplished his goal.

"What's so funny?" Pat asked joining the pair.

"Nothin'," Rita said then to Peter asked. "I promised Pat he could tag-a-long, is that okay?"

"Sure," Peter said wishing the lad would get lost. It would be harder to accomplish his goal with the little brother hanging around.

"Good. Let's go," Rita took hold of both boys' arms as they walked down the street towards the market place, a carefree smile on her face with her favourite boys at her side.

Their first stop was tossing darts at a Rusty's Pub. Peter scored bull eyes constantly while Pat kept trying but never scored high enough for bragging rights. Peter gave him some money and sent him to get drinks as he and Rita wandered outside with Peter's arm draped across Rita's shoulders. The sun was shining, a nice change in the weather making today perfect, as Peter fingered the small box in his jacket pocket. He smiled anticipating her reaction when he presented it to her. Now to find the right spot.

A crowd gathered around a shop, so the couple made their way over hearing Prime Minister Chamberlain's voice on the wireless. Everyone was silent hanging on to each word. Rita held Peter's hand so tight, she was cutting off the circulation.

"What's going on?" Pat asked handing the drinks over. Rita shushed him not taking her drink.

Her eyes met Peter's both enlarged with worry. War. They were at war. Peter reached over pulling her tightly to himself. A lump in his own throat. He'd thought Hitler would back down, and they'd never see war in his lifetime. Not after the Great War, the war to end all wars, which his grandfather gave his life for King and Country. Now England found herself at war with the same bloody Germans again? He'd listened to all the broadcast about Germany taking over countries. But how anyone in their right mind believed they could take on the countries that had whooped their arse in the Great War boggled the mind. Was Hitler insane? Did he think France and Britain would back down? Rita trembled in his arms, he kissed the top of her head whispering it would be all right.

Rita held onto Peter. War. War had come. She'd feared since Germany began acting up this day would come and it terrified her. Sure her grandparents generation had beaten the German's down, but could they do it again with all the modern advances in warfare? In the Great War, everyone fought on horseback, or in great trenches until the tanks rolled out in the later days of the war. She'd spent a lot of time listening to her grandfather's stories of the war. She'd seen the toll haunted memories sometimes took on him. Her grandfather was the same age as Peter when he entered the army. Peter would have to go fight. Would he survive? Many wouldn't. Her grandfather lost good friends during the last war. Thoughts of losing Peter made her tremble. If he came back, would he be the same boy she loved?

Pat sat the drinks on a counter looking around at the shocked, confused, and frightened faces in the crowd. A grin on his face. War, jolly good fun. After all, didn't King Edward like that Hitler fellow? What he'd heard about him, the man seemed to have a good head on his shoulders. Too bad King Edward stepped down to marry his wife.* Pat wondered why the King didn't simply keep Wallis Simpson as a mistress. Lots of kings had mistresses and giving up that much power for a woman was stupid in the young teen's eyes. The speed Hitler had used to take over countries meant that England wouldn't stand a chance against the enemy forces, giving Pat an opportunity to meet Hitler. Or he'd make one somehow, the thought caused his grin to grow.

The radio announcer kept giving out information about what would come in the near future. Some people listened, other cried silently, still others wept loudly. All fools in Pat's mind. He watched Peter holding his sister. Peter was okay because he kept Rita busy and would give him money to scamper off. When she was with her boyfriend, she wasn't poking her nose into his business. He managed nicely when she was occupied elsewhere. His eyes darted in their direction once more. Maybe he could sneak out in the confusion.

"Pat," his sister's shaking voice said as she reached over pulling him close to her. "Don't be afraid. It will be okay."

"I'm not afraid," he tried to wrangle free from her grip. "Let go. I want to go check on mum and pops."

She placed both hands on his shoulders trying to smile through her tears. "Good idea. Go straight home and don't stop to talk to anyone. Tell mum, I'll be home later. Will you be all right walking home alone?"

"I'm nearly fifteen not five years old," annoyance clear in his voice. Rita smiled letting go of him watching until he was out of sight.

Peter put his arm around her, "He'll be all right." He'd be shocked if the kid went home before nightfall. They stayed at the wireless listening with the others. A few minutes later, the air-raid sirens wailed. A sense of urgency filled the streets as people moved into the air-raid shelters. Peter guided Rita towards a quiet area in the back. He'd scoped the local shelters out in recent weeks.

"Wish I hadn't let Pat go home alone. Mum tried to get him on a train, but he's too old or most likely from too poor a family," Rita fretted settling into his arms.

"I'm sure he's safe in your mum's arms in another shelter," Peter said not believing a word he said.

A loud bang caused both teens to jump. "Is that what a bomb will sound like?" Rita asked trembling.

"I'm sure it'll be louder," Peter said nuzzling the side of her neck.

"Don't. Please."

"We need to keep our minds occupied while waiting. Keeps us calm," he tried again.

"I'm too scared," she pulled back fright filled eyes peering deep into his. "What do you think it will be like?"

Peter hated fear in those green eyes, it made him feel helpless. "I don't know."

"You'll be called up to fight."

"I'm joining the services tomorrow."

"Why?"

"Wanna get in on the ground floor before all the good spots are gone," he said with a chuckle trying to calm her. He couldn't stand to see her so scared and had to help stop the madness. He'd singlehandedly save England from the war to never see fear in those perfect green eyes again. The ring in his pocket stayed hidden from sight.

* * *

"Why didn't you ask her to marry you right then?" Carter asked.

"Cause I was convinced the war wouldn't last long. And if I didn't come back, it wouldn't have been fair to Rita to be a young widow," Newkirk shrugged his shoulders.

"I understand. Nearly asked Mary Jane to marry me before I left, but didn't for similar reasons. Glad I didn't now," Carter said shaking his head in understanding. "What happened to the ring?"

"Asked Mavis to keep it for me. Suppose she's still got it. I'm going to take a walk," Newkirk said leaving Carter sitting on the bench. Dusk was approaching and Newkirk would be herded back to the hut by the guards soon. Carter allowed him have his privacy to get his emotions under control.

* * *

* en dot Wikipedia dot org/wiki/Edward_VIII


	13. Chapter 13

Morning roll call had been longer than usual. Klink's long-winded speech of the glorious news of the Luftwaffe superiority had Hogan at his breaking point.

"Kommandant, we saw Luftwaffe planes limping back yesterday," Hogan interrupted Klink. He had more pressing issues to deal with today.

"Minor damage is to be expected," Klink glared at his counterpart.

"The one trailing black smoke didn't look minor," Hogan said then added with a wicked grin. "Nor the one with half a wing gone."

"Dissssmissssed," Klink huffed, turning, and marching back to his office glad he wouldn't have to deal with Hogan until tonight's roll call. Hogan's confinement had privileges for the Kommandant.

"That's tellin' em Gov'nor," Newkirk laughed as they entered the hut.

"Why's he being nasty today?" Olsen asked.

"He's happy because the Gestapo won't be back for a while," Hogan said as the door to the hut closed.

"How long will that last?" Kinch asked.

"Not forever unfortunately. Perhaps long enough to finish this mission. Kinch, contact London for an update. If anyone needs me, I'll be in my office working," Hogan said then closed his office door.

Mid-morning, Hogan came out of his office. "LeBeau, gather the men. We need a council of war."

"Oui, mon Colonel," LeBeau answered leaving.

Hogan refilled his coffee cup, then stood near his door stretching his sore back from being bent over the paperwork all morning. His men entered the hut.

"Oh, this will be good. I can tell from the grin on your face Gov'nor," Newkirk said with a matching grin.

"Right you are," Hogan said folding his arms around his midsection. "Gentlemen, I need a volunteer."

Smitty looked around in confusion at the men as each member of Hogan's crew looked anywhere except at the Colonel keeping their mouths closed tightly. He moved away from the bunk bed that he'd leaned against to set his cup down on the table. "Don't everyone speak up at once." Every man in the barracks turned towards the officer grinning. "What?"

"Thanks for volunteering, Smitty," Hogan said with a satisfied grin.

"Huh?" Smitty's vocabulary failed him momentarily.

"That's how it works mate. The first person to utter a word after the Gov'nor says volunteer, is the volunteer," Newkirk grinned.

"Fair's fair. You were the first!" Carter grinned as the rest of the men chimed in with similar sentiments.

Smitty nodded his head. "Interesting method. I'll remember it for my men."

"Those poor bâtards," LeBeau said shaking his head.

"So what have I volunteered for, sir?" Smitty asked uncomfortable with the grin on the Colonel's face.

"First, we need to determine how. Carter, did we have any of those short term sleeping pills we used on General von Treger left over?*" Hogan asked.

"Yes, sir. A couple of dozen, Wilson has them and if needed I can make more."

"That's plenty. When we're finished get them. LeBeau, when's lunch?" Hogan asked turning towards the Frenchman.

"Not for a couple of hours, but I can make you something now if you're hungry," LeBeau worried when Hogan skipped breakfast.

"It's not for me. Need a reason to take food and coffee down to Nottington, so we can slip a sleeping pill to him," Hogan said.

"He hasn't had breakfast yet," LeBeau said.

"Has Porscha?" Hogan asked with narrowed eyes.

"Hers was taken to her hot," LeBeau said proudly.

"So why didn't Nottington eat when she did?" Hogan asked with accusing eyes.

LeBeau shrugged his shoulders, "I was busy feeding the men. Was about to take it him."

"From now on, Nottington gets his food before serving Porscha. And that's a direct order," Hogan's eyes were hard.

"Oui, mon Colonel," LeBeau had the good grace to look chastised even if he didn't agree with the order.

"Wait, maybe…yeah, yeah," Hogan said pacing hand rubbing his chin. "LeBeau, prepare his breakfast and doctor his coffee so he'll fall asleep. Smitty, you take the food into him. And if he tries to say anything about Rita and Newkirk, let him have the upper hand for the moment. Can you handle it?"

"Yes, sir. Not a problem," Smitty answered.

LeBeau went to the stove to warm up the coffee as hot coffee would help hide the flavour of the sleeping pill. He searched for a matchbook near the stove, and patting down his pockets, not finding one, he turned to Newkirk. "Mon ami, do you have a match?"

Newkirk checked his pockets. "No, but there's a new book in my locker."

"I'll get it," LeBeau said going to the cabinet.

Kinch put a hand on Carter's shoulder shaking his head no trying to hide an amused grin. Carter understood and stepped far out of LeBeau's way watching.

LeBeau opened Newkirk's locker and a confetti bomb exploded, pieces of coloured paper and glitter sprayed all over his face and clothing. "NEWKIRK!" He turned to see the entire barracks laughing hysterically. "You did that on purpose," anger in his voice prominent.

"No, mate, I really didn't," Newkirk laughed so hard tears came out of his eyes. "I think that was meant for me. No idea who did it, but I needed a laugh, and your expression is priceless." He continued to chuckle.

"Who?" LeBeau fumed looking at each man. "It will take forever to get the glitter out of my clothes."

"You look better that way," Kinch said laughingly.

"Did you do this?"

"No," Kinch shook his head.

"Carter? Was this your doing?" LeBeau demanded.

"Why is it when there's a bomb, I get blamed," he asked still laughing.

"When I find out who…," LeBeau trailed off.

"It was a good practical joke. We need to give credit where credit's due. But we have a job to do now," Hogan said reigning in his laughter, wondering if this would start of a string of jokes. "LeBeau, when will the meal be ready?"

"A few minutes, sir," he was still fuming examining the faces of his bunkmates for the guilty party.

"What's your plan, sir?" Kinch asked curiosity written on his face.

"Gentlemen, this is what we're doing," Hogan started.

* * *

Wilson knocked on the side of the wall as he entered the room Porscha occupied. "May I come in?"

"Ja," Porscha answered. She'd been reading a book on the cot, so far her only visitor had been LeBeau when he brought her breakfast, and then later when he picked up the dishes. She had to admit he was a fantastic chef.

"Wanted to see how you're doing," the medic said sitting down next to her.

"Cooped up," she said with a tinge of annoyance.

Wilson nodded his head in sympathy. "Completely understandable. As a prisoner of war, it's a feeling we've all experienced."

"At least you're allowed to walk around outside," she stood moving over a few feet to the door where the guard stood. "I only get this far."

"We're not always able to go outdoors. Many times we're restricted inside for days or weeks. Then there's the cooler which those rooms are half the size of this room. This really is the VIP room," Wilson watched as understanding dawned for Porscha. She hadn't realized the realities of the men upstairs. "Are you having any side effects of the sedative? Any dizziness, nausea, unusual drowsiness, or headaches?"

"Nein, those wore off yesterday. I slept better than I expect, but then the medication might have contributed," she said sitting back down next to Wilson. "May I ask you a question?"

"Sure."

"What are trials like in America?" Something about Wilson made her feel as if she could trust him and his replies. Was it because they were both in medicine? She wasn't sure.

"Not an easy question to answer. I assume you're wondering if they're different from Germany's current version of trials." Porscha shook her head yes. "In America, everyone on trial is assumed innocent until proven guilty in a court of law."

"Can a person be found not guilty?"

"Yes, and trials do sometimes end in the person being set free. Although the way our justice system is set up, a bunch of evidence has to be brought before someone is taking to trial. That helps to eliminate as few innocent people being put through the ordeal as possible."

"I've rarely seen that in Germany. Accusations are enough for anyone to end up on trial or imprisoned." She paced for a couple of moments, "The traitor Patrick, what is his job in the military?"

"Someone said he was a police officer."

"The trial that Patrick is facing. What will it be like?" she asked. Could it truly be different in another country? Her parents and grandparents spoke of a Germany where such things existed before the Fuehrer.

Wilson drew in a deep breath before answering. This was important to Olsen, and he wanted to help the sergeant, plus she knew the basics. "As he's in the military, he's trial will be in a military court. He's facing treason, murder for his sister and two police officers, and possible other charges. His sister's dying declaration was that he shot her, because she tried to stop him from coming to Germany with stolen military information. It's an open and shut case, although I'm sure the trial will take a few weeks. No one is convicted of treason or murder without a proper defense."

"And if found guilty will he immediately be put to death?" her face concerned.

"Not necessarily. He could be sentenced to death, or imprisoned for life. In American history, a few men convicted of treason were pardoned by the President and set free.** Once all the evidence is heard, and the judges make their decision, then Patrick will learn his fate," Wilson answered wondering if the information helped.

Porscha paced around the room. "To murder one's own sibling is unspeakable. However, it's not unusual for the Gestapo to kill their own men in defense of the country."

"Perhaps not here. But the Allies military police are not like the Gestapo. What were the police like before the Gestapo took power?" Wilson asked.

"A safe place to get help if a crime occurred, but not anymore. Sometimes they cause the crimes," she answered forlornly her missing friend flashing in her mind.

"In America, the police are respected. They protect the innocent and arrest criminals. It's unheard of for a police officer to kill another police officer," he explained.

"Patrick is English. Is it the same in England?"

"The law works similarly in England. I'm not sure of the specifics, but I can have someone from England come by and explain English military law if you like," Wilson answered thinking Newkirk or one of the other Brits was more qualified than he was to explain.

"No, you've given me enough to think about, thank you," Porscha smiled.

"If you need anything from me, have someone get me," Wilson said then left hoping he helped.

Porscha paced while thinking through her dilemma. Were trials different in other countries? Her grandfather was a judge before the new order, she knew he didn't approve of the changes made in German law. His moral code forced him out of the bench, at least that's the reason he said. Her parents speaking in hushed tones with other family members said that retiring was the only option which would allow him to live. When Germany took over a country, the legal system was suspended and replaced with what Germany suffered under. If Germany lost the war, what would happen to her home? Would it be bad if Germany lost the war? Would they be rid of the Gestapo? The name of that organization made her skin crawl.

Patrick was a traitor and being treated as one; his major crime helping Germany to win the war. Not turning in everyone in camp into the Gestapo made her a traitor to her homeland. Should she be treated as a traitor by her people? Right now, she was held prisoner, but the question had to be answered. Even if she didn't want to admit to LeBeau, she loved Derrick and could never betray him. Bryan Olsen, an American, he was the enemy; she didn't know him and he was trying to turn her into a traitor. She had no loyalty to Olsen.

* * *

* Episode – Don't play cards with strangers

** www dot heritage dot org/constitution/#!/articles/3/essays/120/punishment-of-treason


	14. Chapter 14

"Room service leaves a lot to be desired in this joint," Pat said as Smitty entered the room carrying a tray of food.

"Well, if you don't want it," Smitty stopped mid-stride.

Pat backed up allowing the door to be opened. Reynolds took the tray from the officer and then placed it on the folding table setup in the cell. He backed out of the cell, closing and securing the lock.

"Looks appetizing," Pat said sarcastically lifting a spoon of oatmeal that resembled mush. He dropped the spoon back into the bowl and took a drink of the coffee. "What no jam for the bread?"

"Wasn't sure which you'd prefer, orange marmalade, or strawberry jam," Reynolds said rolling his eyes.

"Why don't you take a break," Smitty said to the guard.

"If he gives you any trouble, I'll be close," Reynolds said walking out with the key in his pocket.

Pat moved to the cell door, "So you're a big man around here." What information could he gain from his dear old friend?

"I'm not the one locked up," Smitty grinned folding his arms across his chest.

"Don't count on it. What did you tell them?" Patrick stood with his hands folded on the cross bar of the door.

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

"I've got a good idea. Still not a fan of the truth, I take it?"

Smitty scrawled moving closer to the door. "Watch your mouth."

"You're the reason Rita's dead," his face grew harder staring at man outside the bars.

"Talk like that will have bad consequences," Smitty said his eyes turning cold.

"Big talk from a…,"

Before Pat finished his sentence Smitty reached through the bars grabbing a handful of his shirt pulling him forward. "I'd suggest you say nothing."

"You murdered Rita. Peter's smart, he'll figure it out," Pat's voice was low ensuring no one overheard.

Smitty jerked Pat forward knocking his head into the bars. "Your last warning."

"There's nothing I can do for Rita, except ensure Peter is protected from you," Pat said as Smitty shoved him backwards. He stumbled, bumping the coffee over spilling it on the ground.

Smitty stormed out of the room not realizing he nearly knocked Wilson down. The medic moved out of the way saving his coffee. The medic watched the retreating officer, he'd seen that look before on Hogan. Whatever the prisoner had done touched a deep sore spot within Smitty, and he needed space to calm down. Wilson entered the cell room. Pat was pacing back and forth then stopped to see who entered.

"In the habit of pissing off officers?" Wilson asked taking a sip of the coffee.

"It's a pastime," Nottington smirked. He turned back to the split liquid, "Only wish I hadn't lost the coffee."

Wilson reached his left hand into his jacket pocket, picked out a sleeping pill, and then took one last sip of his coffee. With his left hand he took the cup passing it through the bars dropping the pill into the coffee unnoticed. "Have mine. I can get more."

"Why would you do this?" Nottington asked.

"Like your pastime," Wilson smirked trying to keep his heart rate down. He rarely did this type of work, or carry sleeping pills in his pocket. However, he was the only person available to ensure the colonel's plan succeeded.

The prisoner laughed taking a long drink of coffee, "Yeah, it can be fun. Wouldn't have anything edible on you?"

"No, had the same crap breakfast myself. Enjoy the coffee," Wilson said turning and leaving before he gave anything away.

Nottington watched Wilson leave wondering if he was someone he could use against Smitty. He sat down, placed the cup on the table, and took a bite of the oatmeal. Although it didn't appear appetizing, the taste wasn't bad. He ate half of the meal, then finished his coffee. Within a couple of minutes, he realized he was drugged. "Ah crap," he fell backwards on the cot.

* * *

Wilson entered the radio room with everyone present. "Colonel, may I speak with you privately for a moment?"

Hogan joined him, "What's up?" He listened as Wilson explained what happened. "I'm impressed."

"Guess, I've picked a couple of things up from everyone," Wilson blushed slightly not sure if it was a good thing or not.

"Smitty told me about the encounter. Will Nottington be asleep by now?"

"He should be. Do you mind if I observe? I wasn't involved with Schultz's turn and I'm curious," the medic asked.

Hogan nodded his head and turned to the rest of the group. "Newkirk, do you have the truth serum."

"Yes, sir right here," he held the black box up. "Will work any better than with Schultz?"

"We'll find out. You're the experienced one, I want you to handle the interrogation," Hogan ordered.

"Sir, I can handle the questions, but I'm not comfortable trying to shoot him up with the stuff. He won't lay still as Schultz did. Directions specify the subject must be awake," Newkirk said with a plea in his eyes.

"I don't mind doing the injection, but he must restrained," Wilson said.

"We intend to tie him down, before bringing him around," Kinch said holding up straps, which were liberated from the Germans.

"Gentlemen, let's do this," Hogan ushered the group towards the cell.

As they entered, the unconscious man lay on his back with the chained leg bent at the knee and sitting on the floor. Kinch and Carter picked their subject up placing him on the cot. Newkirk took two straps securing the traitor's legs so he wouldn't be able to kick the team members, while Carter and Kinch tied two more straps around his upper body. Pat wouldn't be able to move his arms or legs with the restraints. Wilson sat on the side of the bed checking his patient's arms for a good vein, finding one, he nodded he was ready. LeBeau held a bottle of smelling salts under Nottington nose until he came around. Instead of removing the container at the first signs of consciousness, he held it there until the patient was fully awake and coughing from the odour.

"What the…" he growled realizing he could not move. His eyes glared at Smitty, who stood behind Wilson.

"Have questions to ask you," Hogan said standing at the head of the bed.

"I speak better when not tied up," Nottington said sarcasm rolling off his tongue.

"And we only want truthful answers," Hogan said then nodded at Wilson.

"The coffee was drugged," his eyes were also accusing Wilson.

"Yep. Have more drugs for you," he tied a tourniquet around the man's arm.

"What is that? Don't give me anything!" He tightened his arm trying to avoid the injection, but Wilson's practiced hand was quicker. The warmth of the medication filtered up his arm as the room seemed to spin.

"Something to help you relax. Take nice deep breaths, nothing to worry about," Wilson said watching the man's face relax within a few seconds. He moved out of the way letting Newkirk sit down.

Newkirk took out the list of questions the colonel had written up. "Pat, can you hear me?"

"Yeah."

"Where does Colonel Robin Sadler work?"

"MI5."

"What does he do there?"

"German agents, makes them turn."

"How do you know?"

"Boss man."

Hogan leaned over whispering into Newkirk's ear. Newkirk nodded his head. "Is your assignment for MI5?"

"Robyn sent me here."

Everyone was surprised. Was Nottington an actual MI5 agent?

"Tell me more about Robin," Newkirk asked.

"Robyn's wild," Pat smirked.

"How?"

"Anywhere, any time," his face looked like he was remembering a fun memory.

"How did you meet Robin?"

"MI5 headquarters. Took to each other immediately."

"What do you mean?" Newkirk wasn't sure he liked where this was leading.

"Our eyes meet across the room. Those blue eyes told me all I needed. Intrigued, wanted to find out more. On the paperwork folder a note said where to meet."

"Where was the meet?"

"Twenty minutes later in the alleyway behind MI5 headquarters."

"What happened at the meet?"

"Paradise."

"Tell me about paradise," Newkirk asked trying to keep him talking.

"Just learning how wild Robyn can be."

"So give. How wild?"

"I was trying to be all casual making sure I didn't misinterpret. Robyn's lips didn't wait for pleasantries. They crushed mine first," Patrick said enjoying the memory.

"Gov'nor?" Newkirk looked back at Hogan disbelieving what he was hearing.

"Keep him talking," Hogan ordered.

"What happened next?"

"Robyn likes having it off anywhere dangerous. The more chance of being caught the hotter Robyn gets. Did it up against the building. Pushed Robyn face first against the building while I took care of business. Had to put my hand over Robyn's mouth to stifle the screams of ecstasy. Hottest sex I'd ever had until then. Mild compared to things we'd do later."

Newkirk's mind was stripped unable to ask another question. He looked over at Hogan's whose mouth was nearly on the floor and eyes larger than Newkirk had ever seen. A quick look around confirmed his suspicion, everyone else was in just as much shock. Poor Carter appeared confused and terrified at the same time. Smitty had sit down on the chair unable to comprehend what he was hearing. LeBeau had gone pale staring at the prisoner. Kinch had a hand over his mouth covering how far his jaw had dropped. Wilson's face was a description in astonishment contorted in ways Newkirk couldn't described.

Hogan's mind was reeling, Robin Sadler was a good friend, and been over to the man's house several times. His wife was one of the most beautiful women Hogan had ever met. Why would Robin be with a man? How could he have missed this side of his friend? He shook his head to bring himself out of the shock.

"Who told you to steal the documents?" Newkirk asked the next question on the list.

"Robyn and I came up with the idea one night. Robyn had the contacts to make it happen."

"Make what happen?"

"Me coming to Germany. Robyn sent me an urgent message, we had to meet after I got the documents and all hell broke loose. Met under London's Bridge and had more sex than I thought possible in a night. Rain fell softly but Robyn didn't seem to notice the cold as our clothes fell on the ground. Couldn't get enough of me. Told me where to bring the documents to microfiche once the sunrise started."

Hogan croaked out, "Where?"

Newkirk understood. "Where were the documents processed?"

"Waterfront warehouse MI5 uses for storage."

"Where are the original documents?"

"Robyn kept them."

"When did you go to the warehouse?" Newkirk was glad for the change in topic. He was sure he'd been scarred for life by the imagines Pat had painted in his mind.

"Two days later, same day I left England."

"Who processed the paperwork?"

"Some young lackey Robyn talked into it. Kid had glasses held together by tape. Robyn smiled at him and rubbed his head affectionately. He was hoping for a bonk, but he'd never be able to handle or satisfy a nympho like Robyn. He worked, and we had a goodbye I'll never forget. Robyn….," Pat smirked not sharing that memory.

Hogan leaned down whispering a question into Newkirk's ear. The Englander nodded his head then asked. "What's Robyn's last name?"

"Saddler."

Newkirk sat back running a hand over his face in disbelief positive the Gov'nor had been right.

"Robyn's body bent in ways I didn't believe possible while we waited for the microfiche."

"You mean to tell me you and a colonel in the Royal Air Force had sex while some kid microfilmed stolen documents?" Newkirk was at his breaking point.

"No," Pat laughed. "Robyn's not a colonel."

"You said it was Colonel Robin Sadler," Newkirk was flabbergasted.

"No, he's a stuffy prick. Robyn Saddler's is a private who works as a clerk at MI5. She's wilder than you can imagine. I'll send for her once my mission is complete."

Newkirk sat back overwhelmed by relief. Hogan appeared as relieved as he was. Team members came out of their shock. Carter's eyes were still enlarged, he'd never heard of such tales. Later he'd make sure his mate wasn't too traumatized.

"Where's the microfiche?"

"Robyn had a brilliant idea for hiding it."

"Where?" Newkirk pushed.

"With me and safe. No one will ever get to it until I'm ready to give it up," Patrick said.

"Gov'nor, he's got it in his clothes!" Newkirk said excitedly.

"We can only hope," Hogan said.

"What do you mean, sir?" Newkirk asked.

"There is another possibility that no one wants to investigate," Smitty said standing up and walking around the small cell.

Newkirk went ashen as the other reality sunk in, " _Oh_."

"I don't get it. Where else could the film be hidden?" Carter asked.

"Sometimes spies swallow things to keep them safe. Only one way to retrieve it if that's the case," Smitty said unhappy at the prospect.

"If necessary, I have medication to ensure he evacuates everything," Wilson said not wanting to be a part of search and recovery.

"Let's hope it's in his clothes. Take every stitch off of him and change out the blanket just in case," Hogan ordered.

"Every stitch, sir?" Newkirk's eyebrows shot upwards.

"Unless you'd rather the alternative," Hogan said.

"We'll get the job done, sir," Kinch said hoping to find the film in the clothing.


	15. Chapter 15

"How do we take off his clothes?" LeBeau asked almost afraid of the answer.

"Schultz did what we told him; when we put him back outside after using the truth serum on him. Once we untie him, shouldn't he act the same?" Carter asked.

"Let's find out," Kinch said as he removed the restraints.

"Pat, sit up and take your shirt off," Newkirk instructed.

Pat lay unmoving until Newkirk pushed him into a sitting position. He fumbled with his buttons unable to make headway. Kinch pushed his hands away and undid the shirt while Newkirk helped Pat to sit. Pat's head lulled sideways laying on Newkirk's shoulder. The Englander shoved it away, then he and Kinch got the outer shirt off.

"Hold your hands above your head," Newkirk said as they removed the undershirt. The drugged man compiled the best he was able.

Kinch took off the prisoner's boots and socks. "Now stand up and remove your pants." He stood, but had trouble unbuttoning his pants, so Kinch helped. Finally he was able to remove his pants. "Take the long johns off too."

About halfway through removing his long johns, he stopped trembling, "Cold in here."

"I don't care. Get those off!" Newkirk was cross. Their prisoner obeyed. Next he removed his boxers and stood shivering.

"Let's get these on him," Wilson said handing Newkirk clothing from their extras collected from airmen passing through the Traveler's Aide Society. They redressed the traitor and let him fall back onto the cot.

Kinch gathered the clothing, placing it on the blanket, and bundling it into a small parcel. "Sewing room is the best place." The other men agreed as they left and locked the cell.

Arriving at the sewing room, Kinch spread the clothes out on the table. "Everyone take something and rip apart every single seam. I don't want to hear you didn't find the film."

Newkirk handed out seam rippers to everyone and then grabbed the jacket.

"He had us going for a few minutes," Kinch said as he removed the seam around the shirt collar.

"Sacre chat! I thought for sure he meant that Colonel Sadler was a….." LeBeau used his hands to animating the rest of his statement.

"It doesn't make sense how a man could be with a man like that," Carter said. "I mean the body parts are all wrong."

"You're absolutely right," Kinch replied before anyone enlightened the young naïve sergeant. The look he gave the others was to tread lightly because Carter didn't need to lose his innocence over misunderstood remarks.

"But I couldn't figure out what he was trying to tell us," Carter continued.

"None of us could, mate, that's why everyone looked so shocked," Newkirk answered.

"To find out he was talking about his girl made sense, but I've never heard of a young lady doing those things," Carter said. "Was he lying?"

"She was no lady," LeBeau laughed. Even if she was a traitor, Robyn would fuel his daydreams for a long time.

"Andrew, some women aren't nice ladies. And they can be rather wild," Newkirk said wondering how to change the topic.

"I'm not dumb. I understand not everyone is as nice as Mary Jane," Carter defended himself.

"No one thinks you are," Wilson said watching the men tear through the clothing. "Why couldn't we get him off his favourite topic?"

"Because it was his favourite topic. Same thing happened to Schultz. All he'd talk about was food and the kitchen," LeBeau answered.

"We thought he was talking about the experiments because he kept going on about aluminium. To learn it was bloody aluminium pots and pans!" Newkirk said. "If you had a bird like 'is, wouldn't she be your favourite subject?" His mind wondered back to Ginger* who seemed rather boring in comparison.

Wilson shrugged his shoulders and a grin.

"The medication worked identical in both of them," Kinch said.

"How's it going?" Hogan asked as he and Smitty entered the sewing room. Both officers' faces shown concern.

"We're still searching sir," Kinch said.

"Keep me informed," Hogan ordered as he left. Smitty picked up a piece of clothing helping the men search.

Hogan walked through the tunnels hoping Porscha convinced him she was trustworthy. At this point, he had no choice but to send her to an Allied POW camp and the decision would be final no matter how Olsen protested. The safety of his men came first. _The good of the many_ popped into his mind. However true, the decision didn't sit well with him. The poor man had been through hell a few months ago when some damn scientist cut off his arm**, and Porscha was how Olsen got through what would have destroyed most men. Never able to find the culprits left him wondering if those bastards were lurking around the corner every time anyone went outside the wire.

Entering Porscha's room, Hogan dismissed the guard. He found her sitting curled up on the cot looking thoughtful. "Hello, I'm Colonel Robert Hogan."

She uncurled her legs from underneath her and sat up straight holding her hand out to shake the colonel's. "I'm Porscha Herz."

"Sorry, I haven't been able to come before now. Been busy. Wanted to see how you were doing," Hogan shook her hand then took a seat in the chair across from the young lady.

"You're in charge of the men?" she asked.

"Yes, I am."

Porscha nodded her head understanding Hogan held her future in his hands. He would make the final decision about her fate. "This ordeal has been frightening."

"I'm sure it has. Olsen made a promise that you'd be safe. I will ensure that promise is kept. You're in no danger," Hogan answered with a gentle smile trying to put her at ease.

"Safe doesn't mean I can go home," she deadpanned him.

"Let's go slow and see how it works out. How do you feel about what you've learned?" he asked sitting back.

"Overwhelmed. To learn of the danger Derrick was in every time we were together is terrifying. Then to learn his name isn't even Derrick, nor is he German," she looked down toward the cot.

"What do you think about that?"

"I don't know," the honesty of her reply revealed on her face and voice.

"I can respect that answer. How do you feel about Derrick?"

"I love Derrick. I don't know about Bryan. With Derrick everything was simple. We met, fell in love, and I could see a future for us, marriage, raising a family here in Hammelburg. Bryan changes everything," for a second her eyes glistened with moisture until she blinked them away taking a deep breath.

"How does that change?" Hogan resisted the urge to reach out and take her hand. She wasn't comfortable with him yet, and he didn't want to overstep his boundaries.

"Bryan's family is in America. America is a whole world away. I've never been more than a hundred kilometers away from Hammelburg. I can't imagine living without my family close. How could we raise children without the older generations lending their help? His family in America naturally would ask the same question. The impossibility of the logistics makes my head spin," she answered.

Hogan smiled gently, Porscha worrying about where they'd raise their children told him where her heart stood on the subject. "Bryan's lived mostly in Germany and has many friends in the area. His family only left Germany because of the political shift. Have you spoken with him about where he'd want to raise a family?" Porscha bit her lower lip shaking her head no. "Have you ever seen the ocean?"

"No."

"Do you want to see it?"

She thought for a moment before answering, "Ja, I've dreamed about seeing the ocean."

"So you're not opposed to travel?"

"Nein," Porscha said.

"Have you and Bryan spoken about the possibility of his family coming back to Germany once the war is over?"

Although she'd tried to speak with Bryan, they found any conversation difficult. "We haven't gotten far in our discussions."

Her answers were truthful and accurate, and the same information Olsen had told Hogan, making Hogan's decision easier when the time came. He wouldn't have to second guess where she stood and the safety of his men. "What is the most difficult part for you?"

She took a deep breath blowing it out uneasily before answering. "If I stay with Bryan, then I become a traitor to my country. Why should I be treated any different than Patrick is being treated?"

Hogan nodded his head. "What do you think should happen?"

"By now my family believes the Gestapo have taken me away. So showing up, they will want answers. They have no love for Hitler or his henchmen, but they love me. At first they will be gentle, but eventually they will want answers so to ensure my safety. I can't imagine lying to them and they would see through the lies. They love Derrick, but if the choice was him or me, they'd choose me. What would I say to them? My Mutter und Schwester are my closest confidants and I wish I could discuss this with them. I want to go home," Porscha's hands trembling as she tried to stop the nervous tick.

"Unfortunately, you'll not be able to discuss any of this with your mother and sister, until the Allies win the war. But there are people here who can help you process everything," Hogan said.

"Louis is a delightful man and so full of passion. I can see why he and Derrick are such good friends. It's hard to discuss some things with Derrick, but I will continue to try. Joe…even though we don't know each other, I'm comfortable talking with him," Porscha said.

"An astute description of my men. Joe naturally puts people at ease. He's someone I confide in and you're in good hands with him. I'm also available to talk. May I suggest you and Bryan spend as much time together as possible? I'll make sure Joe is around too. Do you have questions for me?" Hogan asked.

"Nein, nicht jetz. Thank you for coming by," Porscha said as Hogan stood to leave.

* * *

Hogan walked back to the sewing room. "How's it going fellas?"

"We haven't found the film, sir," Kinch said, the defeated look on his face answering clearer than his words.

"Have you checked everything including the blanket?" Hogan asked.

"Oui, mon colonel, we have," LeBeau tossed the undershirt he'd been tearing apart on the table.

"Is there anything you haven't done?"

"No, sir," Smitty answered. The other men shook their heads in agreement.

"Well gentlemen that only leaves me only one option. I need a volunteer," Hogan said.

Everyone looked away. Carter clamped both hands over his mouth to ensure no sound came out as he looked fastidiously at the ground. Kinch found a spot on the far wall and stared at it as if his life depended upon it. Smitty put both hands in his pocket, and in his mind replayed one of his favourite baseball games. Wilson, an expert at remaining silent and still so not to disturb sleeping patients, continued to sit on the stool unmoving. LeBeau turned to face Newkirk carefully closing his mouth. Newkirk lowered his eyes from LeBeau to the table of ripped apart clothing.

"So that's how it's going to be?" Hogan asked not surprised. No one wanted this duty, whom was he going to pick? Maybe the best way was to have everyone rotate through the assignment in pairs.

"Hold on a sec," Newkirk said as he reached for Pat's pants. "We missed something." He held the pants in his left hand as his right took the seam ripper to the flap which covered the zipper. A few tense seconds later, he held the microfiche up for all to see with a grin on his face.

"I…I never thought of there!" Carter exclaimed. Newkirk hit him playfully with his cover as everyman sighed in utter overwhelming relief.

"Figures, we should have looked there first," LeBeau said.

"Why?" Carter asked with confusion showing.

"He said Robyn picked the hiding spot. That girl has a one track mind," LeBeau answered.

"Good job," Hogan said taking the microfiche. Although he was curious, he handed them to Smitty for safe keeping without reviewing it.

"Oh boy, I can't wait to read what's on the film!" Carter said with a huge grin.

"What we don't know, we can't tell. No one is reading those orders. Kinch, when London is available, ask them what to do. Do they want us to destroy them?" Hogan ordered.

"They'll be on in a few minutes. I'll go warm the tubes up," Kinch said as he left to attend his radio. Hogan followed the radioman.

"I will check on the prisoner. Curious how this stuff is still affecting him," Wilson said standing up.

"I'll come with you," Carter said hoping if he put time and distance between him and the rest of the crew, the inevitable teasing for missing the film wouldn't be as harsh. The medic sometimes teased too, but he understood when to stop where Newkirk and LeBeau didn't. For what he nearly put the team through, Carter felt horrible.

When the pair entered the cell room, the guard opened the door to allow them entrance. Pat lay on his back half on and half off the cot. Out of habit, Wilson straightened Pat out on the cot. Between the sedative and the truth serum, Pat was still under their effects and not coherent. Wilson was unsure how long that would last.

"Peter…," Pat mumbled something else unintelligible.

"What about Peter?" Carter asked.

"In danger."

"How? Talk louder," Carter ordered.

"Smitty killed Rita. He'll kill Peter when he figures it out. Must save Peter!"

* * *

* D-Day at Stalag 13

** My story - When Zucchini Attacks


	16. Chapter 16

A/N: Warning minor cannon character death.

* * *

"Hey," Olsen said coming around the bend.

"Will you be here for a while?" Addison asked.

"Yeah, plan to be for a couple of hours. Why?"

"I need to do something. You don't need me to hangout do you?" Addison said with a wag of his brow.

"No take your time," Olsen smirked watching as Addison left then entered Porscha's room.

"We're alone?" Porscha asked as Olsen kissed her on the check.

"Yes. I missed you," Olsen said sitting down next to her.

Porscha smiled at his affection, but not ready to return it so instead changed the subject. "Colonel Hogan came by earlier. He seems like a good man."

"He's a good commander, always looking out for the men. Our welfare is his number one priority," Olsen said trying to hide his disappointment. He wanted to kiss those ruby red lips of hers, not talk about his commander.

"That's admirable," Porscha said. Good, because Derrick would be taken care of, but not good for her. No matter what she decided, or told Hogan, he might refuse her request to return home.. Unsure where she'd be sent, or if this room would be her prison cell for the duration of the war, she hid her inner turmoil. Instead, she tackled a hard subject. "Derrick, what are your thoughts on when the war is over?"

"I'm sure the Allies will win the war. The tide is already turning and with several attempts on Hitler's life, it won't be long. When it's over, the Army will send us home, or at least everyone in the camps. I need time with my family. I'd like you to come with me," he said looking into her eyes.

"For how long?"

"A couple of years. Your family is welcomed to visit us there," he hoped she'd say yes.

"That's a long time. There'll be lots of chaos if Germany loses the war, and much work to restore the country. My family will need the support. The entire country will need help. Do you think the Allies will allow us to stay a country, or will we be broken up amongst the victors?"

The fear in her eyes of possibly losing her beloved homeland cut into his heart. "I'm sure Germany will be the same geographically with a new government, and no longer under the Hitler and the Gestapo. The German people will finally be free."

"When we lost the last war, the victors destroyed the German economy and in many ways caused this war. I don't want another war in my lifetime," mist showed in her put an arm around her shoulders. "There won't be another war. The world has learned its lesson and won't repeat the errors of the previous generation."

"Will your family come back to Germany?" she asked leaning into him. The closeness of his body making her feel safe.

"Once travel is permitted again, I believe so. We didn't want to leave in the first place, but were forced out. My parents hoped until the war started that we'd be allowed to return, so I'm sure once the university is running again, they'll return," he said with optimism. The worst was coming for Germany; once the second front opened, the country would be torn apart as the Allies moved into Berlin. There was no predicting the amount of devastation which would be left in the wake because Hitler wouldn't leave power easily. He wished her entire family were in the safety of America. He didn't want her in a POW camp, but if he was honest with himself, she'd be safer in England than here. If Hogan insisted she leave Germany, his plan was to talk the colonel into sending her to live with his family in America. A tall sale, but the only one his heart would survive. Deep down part of him realized the most he could hope for was Porscha in England and not in a POW camp. But it didn't mean he wouldn't try.

"What if Germany wins the war?" Porscha asked.

"Then I'll slip into the world as Derrick Wechsler and continue to fight. I'll never accept the fall of democracy. I can't live in a world full of Gestapo and SS. No one can and I refuse to condemn the world to the same fate." He looked deep in her eyes and saw emotions he could not identify place playing out across her face. Worry, fear, anxiety were easy to see, but there was something else he'd never seen shining brightly in the forefront.

"You would wouldn't you?" she said pulling away from him. Standing and pacing. "What about us?"

"I don't understand," he said the coldness of her voice sending shivers through him.

"If the war is over and Germany the victor, you'd continue to fight with no thought to our future. To a life together? Kinder? Making a life the best we can. You'd continue to fight until you were dead!" her voice angry. She turned away from him, shoulders trembling, unable to look Olsen in the eye.

"I would continue to fight to bring justice to all the Anna's of the world," his voice sharp matching hers. The name of her friend the Gestapo destroyed might be low blow, but it was the epitome of why he fought. "Can't you understand that?"

"No matter what it cost you personally?" she turned facing him, tears streaming down her face.

"Yes," he said, the passion in the word encompassing more than he could verbalize. Yes, he'd sacrifice his happiness to bring about a world which would give freedom and the opportunity for happiness to millions more. It wasn't about him personally, it was about ensuring the world didn't live under tyranny.

She turned away from him. He walked over putting his hands on her shoulders running them gently down her arms. She flinched and pulled away. "Go."

"Don't do this," he pleaded.

"Go," she said harsher.

In frustration, he hit the wall as he left her room. She always pulled away when things became frightening and it irritated him beyond words. Didn't she realize she couldn't hide from the reality of the situation? He took off in a full run towards the back of the tunnels, the pent-up frustrated emotions threatening to overwhelm him.

Porscha flinched when he hit the wall. Time was up, and a decision required. Either she joined him whole-heartedly in the fight, or she cut her losses and ran. Wiping the tears from her eyes, her decision made, there was only one person able to help her now, Patrick Nottington. The guard hadn't returned, so she made her way through the tunnel unsure if she'd be able to contact Patrick, but she had to try.

* * *

Left alone with the guard again, Pat stood up stumbling over the canteen. He twisted the top off, lifted the container to his lips drinking the last few drops. "Damn, it's empty," turning towards Garlotti. "Hey, can I get a refill?" Garlotti hesitated not moving off the stool where he sat. "Not like I'm asking for the crown jewels. Water, please."

"All right," Garlotti relinquished standing. "Hand me the canteen."

Garlotti stood at the bars ready to take the flask. Pat moved slowly towards the bars, holding his head with one hand. When he reached the bars he half stood and half upheld his weight holding on to the bars.

"Give me." Garlotti said and bent down to grasp the canteen.

In that instant, Pat grabbed the front of the sergeant's shirt with his left hand. His right fist punched the guard with an uppercut to the bottom of his jaw. Knocked unconscious, Garlotti went limp and Pat lowered him to the ground, then pulled the cell door key from his pocket. He unlocked the cell door, stepped out, then reached down snapping Garlotti's neck. Couldn't allow the man to expose his escape, every moment was precious if he was to find freedom.

* * *

"Affirmative, the microfiche will be destroyed. Papa Bear out," Hogan said into the microphone as he completed his discussion with London.

"They seemed happy, sir," Kinch said disconnecting the radio.

"Yep, easy mission. Now we send the traitor home. A courier plane will arrive tomorrow night, and this mission will be complete," Hogan sighed. "Disaster averted."

"Maybe not. Sir, can we talk with you?" Wilson asked as he and Carter entered the radio room.

Hogan's gut knotted at the look on both their faces. "What's up?"

"Checked on the prisoner and he's still under the influence of the drugs. He was mumbling about who killed Rita Nottington," Wilson started.

"He says Smitty killed her and that Newkirk's in danger!" Carter interrupted excitedly unable to stand still.

Hogan leaned back on the stool with his arms wrapped around his body taking in the familiar news. Kinch's jaw dropped at the bombshell. Carter's agitation grew fearful for his best buddy. Wilson's demeanour was serious but trying to hide the underlying tension he felt. Nottington had succeeded in making a division amongst the men. His intent accomplished.

"We have to protect Newkirk!" Carter demanded confused with the colonel's inaction.

Hogan bent his head down, closed his eyes, rubbing his left hand across his forehead. "Kinch, in the directions, how long did London say the truth serum worked?"

"An hour, sir," the radioman said. His logical side kicked in calming his nerves.

"Wilson, how long was the sleeping pill you gave the prisoner to last?" Hogan asked looking up at his men. Carter was ready to take off into orbit with anxiety.

"About an hour," the medic said.

Hogan looked at his watch. "It's been two and a half hours since the medication was injected. Is there any feasible way he could still be under the effects?"

"He'd been asleep for thirty minutes when we woke him up, so the sleeping pill was at a high level in his system when I injected the serum. The combination might extend the time the effects lasted," Wilson said thinking through the answer.

"I don't get it," Carter said impatiently.

"It's possible Nottington said that pretending to be under the drugs," Hogan explained.

"Why would he make that up?" Carter looked confused.

"To turn us against Major Smith," Kinch said. "He's trying to play us, so we won't send him home to England and let him stay in Germany."

"So Newkirk isn't in danger?" Carter asked.

"I doubt it. Nottington told me same thing. I didn't believe him then, nor now. However, I should have a conversation with Smitty and Newkirk. Does anyone know where they are?" Hogan asked.

* * *

His clothes changed, he'd lost his lock pick and only weapon. Nottington searched through Garlotti's pockets looking for anything he could find. "A pocket knife, that's naughty. Don't worry, I'm sure I can put it to good use," he smirked slipping the knife into his pocket. "Now to find an exit."

* * *

Olsen ran the entire length of the back of the tunnels twice. Running helped him clear his mind. Why was Porscha making this so hard on everyone? Should he tell her what problems her indecision would cause? Should he continue to withhold the information? Would the colonel believe anything she said if she realized her pending fate? He didn't take notice of where he stopped in the tunnels; his emotions and thoughts nearly overwhelming his capacity to deal. Leaning down with his hands resting on his thighs, he took in large gulps of air trying to catch his breath.

* * *

"What do you mean he's said it before?" Carter asked with wide eyes. "Did you not think Newkirk was worth protecting?" Hogan's angry face made the sergeant add, "Sir."

"My men's welfare is my primary concern. If Newkirk or anyone else had been in danger, I would have acted accordingly," Hogan said with a sharp tone.

"I'm sorry, sir. I know you would have," Carter apologized.

"Didn't Newkirk and Smitty go topside?" Kinch asked in answer to Hogan's previous question. Wilson and Carter shook their heads they were unsure.

"Let's find them," Hogan ordered.

* * *

The escaped prisoner was ready to leave the cell room when he heard someone sucking air in as if they were winded. He moved against the wall to hide when Olsen came into sight stopping to catch his breath with his back towards the cell room. Two steps away was the stool Garlotti had used while watching him. Stealthily he picked up the stool then crossed the few steps where the sergeant stood hunched over. A half second before the stool came crashing down on his head, Olsen turned his face to see the onslaught unable to defend himself.


	17. Chapter 17

Newkirk sat in the sewing room as everyone dispersed to their assignments. He tossed the pants on the table with a heavy sigh.

"Whatch' thinking?" Smitty asked moving into Newkirk's line of sight.

"Blimey, thought everyone left," Newkirk didn't have the energy to cover his mood, and didn't need to with his mate.

"Difficult isn't it?"

Newkirk shrugged his shoulders, stood up, then without speaking began walking down the tunnel. Watching him one would think aimlessly, but his feet had a determined location even if his head was unaware. Blinking, Newkirk found himself staring at the rock wall. This was his spot when the world came to close and he needed privacy. Typically, he projected an air that nothing affected him, but nobody, not even Newkirk believed the pretense. The grey wall stared back without blinking, always there, always willing to listen, always beckoning him inside. When discovered, the rock laughed at the men, unwilling to bend or yield to their tunnel plans. It held firm, this far and no further. Undaunted, they tried to dig around. In amusement the rock allowed them to dig a five foot by three foot crevice and then no more. The alcove forgotten and remained hidden from the hallway, Newkirk found the hideaway his place of solace, comfortable enough for one but two could squeeze fit.

Smitty knew his best friend well enough to follow and not speak until Newkirk was ready. Peter had remained strong on the outside, but dealing with Pat today had taken its emotional toll. They sat with Newkirk completely hidden in the alcove, and Smitty at the entrance both with their backs against the rock.

Newkirk's right hand fumbled in his pocket pulling out a pack of smokes; hitting the edge of the package against his left hand a cigarette dislodged from the group. He pulled it out, studied it for a few seconds then placed the butt end in his mouth. The pack dropped back into his front pocket. Pulling the lighter from the same pocket, he studied it as he ran his thumb across the wheel; the teeth on the wheel pressing into the calloused edge of his thumb.

"Why's that jackass alive and Rita dead? Should be the other way around," Newkirk said staring across the small enclosure into Smitty's eyes. Smitty's left eyebrow raised and with a tilt of his head, agreed with the assessment. Newkirk lit the cigarette taking a deep inhale allowing the smoke to burn all the way down his lungs. "How were her parents holding up?"

"As well as can be expected. They're hurt, angry, confused. Asking the same question," he said quietly.

"She was the best thing in their lives. Hell, all of our lives. Here's this scrote live and well, who should be in the ground," the anger easier to show than the pain of loss. Smitty listened without speaking allowing Peter to express his grief. Newkirk took the last drag of his cigarette and tossed the butt on the ground. "Something I never understood."

"What was that?"

"We dated other people, but no bloke stayed long with Rita," Newkirk said.

"She loved you. Didn't want anyone else," Smitty answered.

Newkirk shook his head. "Had to be something else."

Smitty turned shades of pink from his forehead down through his throat. "There was one thing."

"What?"

"In the throes of passion she cried out only one thing," Smitty looked down.

Peter leaned forward his curiosity peaked. "Give."

"No matter who she was with, she always cried 'Peter'," Smitty said.

Peter leaned back with a smirk on his face. "Is that so?" he chuckled. "Well once you're with the best, nothing compares."

Smitty shook his head in repulsion, not responding.

After several moments Newkirk spoke quietly. "You were together over a year. Was it love or friendship?"

"She loved you," most people wouldn't have been able to read his face.

"You loved her." Newkirk had no trouble understanding.

Smitty ran a hand over his face, bending his left knee up. He played with the edge of his boot taking time before admitting. "Enough to let her go when you came home."

"I'm sorry."

Smitty shook his head. "No need. Rita was your girl. Always and completely. I never forgot, or tried to change it."

Newkirk nodded his head. His best mate and his lady, a man couldn't have been luckier. After a few moments a smirk crossed his face. "She'd scream _Peter_ , huh?"

A scrawl crossed Smitty's face. "You will be impossible." He stood with difficulty from his bruised ribcage, now would be a good time for an exit. "I'm going to check on the dirt bag.

"Ta." He watched as his mate disappeared out of sight. "I miss you, Rita," he said softly leaning his head back memories flooding his mind.

* * *

"Thanks for coming with me," he fidgeted standing in front of the graves. The headstone wasn't big like others around, but it held his grandparents name; Peter Newkirk and Mabel Newkirk.

"They did a good job on the stone," Rita held his hand tightly.

"We always came on his birthday together. I can't remember ever missing a year out here with grams, and she always brought him a drink. This year they're together," Peter's voice broke at the end.

Rita wrapped her arms around his shaking shoulders.

He opened a container and slowly poured the beer out over both his grandparents. "Grams, I can't see your smile or hold your hand anymore, but the memories I'll cherish all my days." He bent down on his knees touching the name recently engraved. The roughness of the material tugged on his finger as he caressed every letter. Shifting slightly, he repeated the same time honoured tradition over his grandfather's name. "I'm seventeen today. Got a job at the Palladium headlining. People like me and got my name on the program. Hope you're looking down on the show. Tomorrow night's going be great. You're both worked into the act. How many people get to be born on the same day as their grampy?"

"They'd be proud," Rita said softly as they tuned to leave.

"Yeah?"

"Definitely."

After a stop by the local pub for fish and chips, they walked to where he was staying. He pushed the door shut behind them. Rita's smile driving him wild all night, and the dress she wore showed slightly more than normal kept his mind on one subject.

He pushed her slightly against the wall intending to kiss. Her finger came up between their lips, "We said that we'd go slowly." The mirth in her eyes teasing him.

He leaned in close with their chins almost touching, so close he felt her breathe tingling across his skin.

He held her hands in his, she smiled at the intertwined fingers. Her eyes journeyed up from their hands to his face lingering too long on his lips. She'd always admired how perfectly formed they were. How gentle with her, and angry at his Pops, but perfectly kissable lips.

"How many ways are there to kiss?" Peter asked noticing the fascination she had with his lips. Her lips had been the source of many day dreams to him. His finger traced the outline of her lips.

"We'll have to find out," with the softest of touch her lips barely brushed his. She swore lightening sparked between their lips. Their bodies so close touching ever so slightly; a brush enough to feel the warmth of his body and send shivers up her.

"We'll need to try that again," a jolly twinkle shined in his green eyes. "Have to find a special way to send a kiss." He leaned forward causing them to become closer, his weight slightly crushing her smaller body. His brows raised waiting for her reply.

This close she saw his eyes had specks of blue, or was the colour shining off the shirt he wore. So caught up in his eye colour she hadn't noticed how impossible close his lips came to hers. Not quite touching, her heart racing so fast she was sure he could feel the beat. "Make sure I never forget," she replied with a gleam in her eye.

The spot where her neck and shoulders touched was too tantalizing to not kiss, and it would be unexpected. With mischievous eyes, he pulled back ever so slightly and brushed the spot with his lips, then blew on it gently. A slight moan causing him to grin as he kissed her neck tenderly; a louder moan emanating from deep within her, growing deeper as he continued with his lips assault on the right spot, and he knew he'd done well. She brought feelings and desires in him that he hadn't experienced in his short life. The sensation running through his body grew with the kisses, he wasn't sure slow was an option.

She pulled his lips up to hers passion sparking in every movement of their lips and tongue. Breaking the kiss, his breathy voice said, "Slow."

"Mmm…hmmm," she mumbled kissing his chin. Alternating slow and long kisses exploring the way each one made his breath catch in his throat.

"That's not slow," his voice throaty with desire. Rita wrapped her arms around his neck pulling him closer. Nibbling on her ear making her knees wobble. Peter picked Rita up carrying her over to the bed laying her down with him beside her. They spent the entire night exploring each other's bodies slowly and sensually.

* * *

Newkirk and Rita been together before, but that was the first time they made love. He'd had sex with various other women in his life, but he'd only ever made love to Rita. He lay his head on his knees letting the tears flow. The nice thing about this alcove was it made a natural sound barrier. No one in the tunnel would hear him, and he couldn't hear the activity in the tunnel junction fifty yards away.


	18. Chapter 18

Smitty left the alcove making it to the halfway point to the main tunnel entrance stopping against the side of the wall. The top half of his body leaning heavily on the wall with his feet a few inches away, arms wrapped around his midsection trying to reign in his emotions. Rita and he had fallen into a comfortable routine, but he continuously told himself she wasn't his. When Peter returned, he'd step out of the way. However, his heart loved Rita with every fiber of his being. He didn't mean for it to happen, but somehow it did. Rita made it clear where her heart belonged with the picture of Peter she kissed every morning which reinforced how screwed up Smitty truly was. The war would end, and Peter would return, then he'd have to see what happened between them. He kept telling himself he'd be there to pick up the pieces if Peter didn't want Rita when he returned. With Peter confined to a POW camp, logic dictated that his best friend would have changed. He'd not be the man he was when he left, although he was unsure what the transformation would entail. The changes he'd seen in Peter over the last few days had been remarkable. Without seeing the setup here, the closeness of the men, he wouldn't have believed the changes in Peter. Which made him feel even worse watching Peter's grief. Peter loved Rita as much as he did. Now Smitty never had to carry out giving up the lady he loved, but he'd do it in a heartbeat, if it meant Rita lived. He'd give anything to see Rita run into Peter's arms and watch them walk into life together. War took good people, too many of them. Tears threatened to sting the back of his eyes, but now isn't the time to deal with his grief or shortcomings. There was a mission to complete. Once he was safely back in London, then he could grieve and figure out how to move forward. He couldn't let Peter see him like this in this place. After the war, maybe they could talk, but not until then. A noise from the tunnel caught his attention. In fact, it almost sounded like a body being dragged down the tunnel. Maybe someone had killed Pat and was disposing of the body. He wanted the privilege of wringing the bastard's neck watching the life go out of his eyes.

* * *

Porscha retraced the turns in the tunnels she and Olsen took yesterday. Did they turn right, right, left, or should she have taken a left after the first turn? Lost and confused, she stopped closing her eyes taking a deep breath. She wasn't plotting a way out yesterday, instead, more intent upon learning the hidden side of Derrick. The arrows pointed to the main tunnel, but she didn't want to be found until she spoke with Patrick. Was she making the right choice? Would her family forgive her? She must do this to protect them, she told herself. Regardless if they understood, she had to do the right thing and what made sense. Is there such a thing as the 'right thing' in a war? Was there a right side of the war? Or only a less wrong side? Was either side truly good? The fate of the world hung in balance or so she'd been led to believe. What was propaganda and what was truth?

As her eyes opened, she spotted a ladder up ahead. She'd leaned against one before discovering Pat's jail cell. Was this the right ladder? If she remembered correctly they passed at least three on their walk. She walked to the ladder to find no corridor interchange only more of the same tunnel. Ahead appeared to be a better lighted section of the tunnel, and she had to risk exposure to find Patrick. She walked along the edge of the wall, until coming to the ladder near the jail cell. It sounded like a scuffle inside. Did she look or turn back?

HHHHHH

 **Nottington** stood over Olsen. Did he run or hide the body? The tunnel opened into a four way intersection a few feet away, and one hallway said dead-end. The hallway he stood in ended into the cell room, leaving only two avenues to explore for escape. He grabbed Olsen's arm pulling him back into the room he'd been imprisoned in dumping him near Garlotti. Patrick hunched over the body as he picked through Olsen's pockets looking for weapons. His fight out of this place wouldn't be successful without a weapon, but he didn't find one. How in enemy territory could the men of this command expect to win a war unarmed? That had confused him during his captivity. Why no weapons in these tunnels? Where were they if the men felt safe enough to not carry guns?

Without warning Nottington was thrown forward, a body tackling him as if he were a football player holding the ball near the end zone. Stunned for a second, it didn't take him long to recover throwing a punch into the ribcage of Smitty. Trying to breathe, Smitty, let go of the traitor stumbling backwards. Just then, he was tackled by Pat and the two men fell to the ground with Pat landing on top of him. He wrapped his hands around the American's throat with blood trickling from his own nostrils, and down the side of his face. His eyes filled with a murderous fury as he tightened his grip around Smitty's throat. The American drew back a fist and punched Pat in one eye eliciting a yelp from the Englander causing him to release Smitty and cover his injured eye. Smitty used the opportunity to roll his body tossing Pat off of him. He immediately got to his feet and roughly seized the front of Patrick's shirt, drew back his other fist, and struck the man repeatedly splitting his upper lip. The final blow caused the traitor to stumble back and land on the ground near Olsen. As Smitty reached for him again, Patrick struck the major on the side of his head with a piece of stool he gripped. Knocked senseless and barely able to breathe from the fight and damage to his ribcage, Smitty fell unconscious to the ground near Olsen.

His breathing coming in quick and hard, he stood looking at the third victim. "Bloody arsehole, no one will stop me. At least one of you will be dead. I'll get Peter on my way out," Pat said searching through the major's pockets. "Nothin'. Where the bloody hell are all the guns?"

He reached down to snap Smitty's neck as a piercing scream tore through the tunnels. Startled, he dropped Smitty's head looking down the tunnel to see Porscha standing there with her hands trembling in front of her. She might be the asset he needed to escape. Their eyes locked and another wailing scream came out. A few quick steps had him standing in front of Porscha, a hand covering her mouth so she wouldn't alert the others to their escape.

"I will not hurt you. I'll remove my hand, but you can't make a sound," **Nottington** said. Once she shook her head yes, he cautiously moved his hand keeping it close enough to clamp down on her again. "They came to kill me. I fought for my life. We have to leave. Which way leads outside?"

"Are they dead?" Porscha asked with a shaky voice. The image of Bryan's head covered in blood burned into her brain. Her sight of the three men down now blocked by the Englander, smears of blood on her cheeks where his hand had been.

"I don't kill people, they're unconscious. Is there a way out down the tunnel you came through?" Porscha shook her head no. "Which tunnel did you use?" she pointed to one of the two he'd decided to explore. "Let's go."

Porscha stood frozen in place fear shining through her eyes. He placed his right hand on her left check in a tender caress. "I promised you I'd see you home to your family. Now is our best chance to make that happen. We must go."

Swallowing hard, she barely got the word out. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why did you become a traitor?" The one question she had to ask this man. Did he kill those men? She wasn't leaving this spot with Bryan on the ground; he needed her now more than ever.

"We don't have time for this," he growled at her.

She took a step backwards separating the contact of his hand on her face. Never in her life had she ever been described as courageous, and this encounter took everything in her not to wilt into a pansy. The love of her life lay bleeding a few steps away; she wouldn't leave him there to die without a fight to save him. Derrick…Bryan…whatever name he used needed her. She had to stall him long enough for the others to arrive. Her screams had to have been heard. If she pushed Patrick too far, he'd kill her, of that she had no doubt. "We're alone. I overheard the others leaving to plant bombs at a local bridge. They'll be gone for hours. And my guard is lying unconscious." It wasn't a lie, Bryan was to be guarding her. Please let him be alive!

He studied her for a few seconds. Was she telling the truth? He'd been lucky, or was there truly no one else left to guard them? Either way, he had to depart. "Do you know where we are?"

"The general area. They blindfolded me but the trip lasted less than a half-hour after we left the Hofbräu. I've lived in Hammelburg my entire life," she said. The camp wasn't far from the city so that much wasn't a lie. Did he believe her? Lying wasn't a skill she used often.

"If we can get to town, I have a contact who will help us," he said.

"I can point out which farmers have telephones and which don't. No one in Germany may have a transmitting radio," she said crossing her arms trying not to look as terrified as she felt.

"Helpful information. We'll contact my friend and then have a surprise waiting for Hogan and his men when they get back. Can we go now?" His voice less demanding but clearly shown his edginess.

She took a step back to get a better look at the men on the ground. Were any breathing? "Not until you tell me why you became a traitor. Convince me this isn't a setup to get me to reveal information."

"I'm trying to help Germany and its people win the war," he shook his head in frustration. She'd be valuable in his escape, and a willing hostage was always easier than one he had to keep an eye on constantly. If she was telling the truth the danger was minimal, but he didn't believe Smitty would remain unconscious long. He gave her one of his patented smiles, which usually charmed the ladies.

"Prove it," she smiled back at him. She understood how his charm might work to his advantage, but she could see his handy work behind him. Where were the others? Was anyone in the tunnels or were they all upstairs doing prisoner of war things?

"I brought with me details on an invasion plan the Allies are preparing for the coast of France. Now I need to get this information to Herr Rüdiger Fleischman. He arranged for my travel here, and he'll handle those trying to destroy your home," he said with conviction of trying to protect her. Her beauty didn't escape him and if she got him to Fleischman's house, he'd convince her to stay. He'd enjoying tasting the fruits of Germany with her all night, although he doubted she could live up to Robyn. Still it would be a pleasant distraction after what Newkirk and Smitty had put him through. "I understand you have questions, and I'll answer them. My main concern is to get you safely to your family. They decided to kill me, and I fear you were next."

Time was running out with the stalling tactics and wouldn't work much longer, and she only had one more opportunity. "Answer my first question and we'll leave. I can take you to where your friend lives, and he has a phone. We'll go to the nearest location we can find a phone and call him." He looked at her quizzically. "Tell me why you became a traitor to your country."

He ran a hand over his face, taking a deep breath before answering. "My country has undergone major changes in political beliefs in recent years. They forced King Edward off the throne, and he really likes Herr Hitler. They are friends. I believe King Edward should be reinstated to the throne. So what he married a woman who had been divorced? Throughout history many kings had affairs or got rid of a wife to take another one. If a King doesn't have to be a virgin then why should his wife be one? Wasn't right or fair. The best King we've had in centuries. There wasn't much I could do until I met Robyn. She told me of a group trying to return King Edward to the throne. When Germany wins the war, then Hitler will reinstate King Edward to rule over England. I'm a police officer, dreamt of being one since I was a lad. The Führer created the Gestapo, the best police force on the planet. I want to be involved with them," he said with a smile. Her expression made him believe he'd won her over to his side. She had to be sure her homeland was protected before trusting him. A trait he admired.

Why had help not come? In seconds he'd be demanding they leave again, she smiled and allowed him to think he'd convinced her with his tale. She believed the reasons he gave for becoming a traitor. "Do you love her?" she asked with a flirty tilt of her head.

"Not love. We're good together." He stopped allowing his mind to race back to a night when he'd come home from a late shift at work. Candles lined the small flat they shared. Robyn stood in the middle of the room with her hands above her head with a pair of handcuffs hanging off one finger, the gleam in her eyes told him there would be no sleep that tonight, a grin all she wore. With a predatory ogle at Porscha, he said, "I'm a free agent."

His look made her skin crawl. It reminded her of the Gestapo sergeant who destroyed Anna. The man tried to draw her into a relationship, but she spurned his every advance. Her fiancé fought in France, and she wasn't one to be unfaithful. The sergeant, although charming in some ways, terrified them in many other ways. Late one night, he broke into Anna's home and tied her to the bed where he had his way with her for his entire three-day pass. He declared she belonged to him, and over the next six months the attacks grew in frequency and duration. Anna would never report him out of fear of making it worse. One day she disappeared, Porscha tried to confront him but he made it clear Anna was gone. Not long after, the sergeant boarded a train to the Russian Front, unfortunately too late to save her best friend. Pat was the same type of predator in her mind. No one with an ounce of humanity wanted anything to do with the Gestapo.

Smitty stirred in the background then fell unconscious again. Please someone come quickly, she pleaded in her head.


	19. Chapter 19

LeBeau hit the button to open the tunnel entrance with Kinch and Wilson in line to climb up behind him.

Carter fidgeted behind the team failure on his face causing Hogan to pull him aside. "I'm sorry, sir. I know you always take care of us."

"You concern for Newkirk is understandable. However, learning to look at the bigger picture is a valuable skill. One I hope you've learned something about over this," Hogan said firmly but not harshly.

"I don't understand how you do it. You always take a step back and analysis the situation before reacting," Carter said looking confused.

"That's exactly how I do it. Unless the danger is immediate, usually there's time to view each angle and try to figure out the bigger picture. As with any skill it takes practice. Start with ordinary everyday circumstances until it's an ingrain habit, then you'll see a difference in the bigger things," Hogan said.

Carter nodded his head in understand, then turned to take his place in line to go up the ladder.

A scream tore through the silence of the tunnel. Everyone froze in place including LeBeau with one leg on the floor above and one on the ladder. They all glanced at each other. As another blood curling scream reached their ears, Hogan ordered "Armoury." No other words needed to be spoken as the men sprang into action. Kinch reached their make-shift arsenal first passing out weapons to each man.

Hogan pointed LeBeau and Carter in one direction as he, Kinch, and Wilson went in the opposite direction meeting up at the crossroads of the tunnel. Porscha tried taking another step away from her captor as the others came into sight. Nottington grabbed her using her as a shield with Garlotti's pocket knife held across her throat at the carotid artery. With a little pressure she'd bleed out fast and nothing could save her life.

Hogan, Kinch, and Wilson blocked the entrance down the main tunnel preventing Nottington from escape. From their advantage point, the three downed airmen could be tended to by Wilson, who made his way to them. Carter and LeBeau blocked the other tunnel exit which led to the center of the compound, the tunnel Porscha had used. They couldn't see the downed men, but match the other team members' stance with their weapons aimed at the traitor.

"You lied!" he sneered into Porscha's ear. "You said they left to blow up something."

"I…I heard them tell my guard they were leaving to blow the Hoffman bridge," she said with terror in her voice and eyes.

"We postponed the mission," Hogan said unsure what was going on, but would take any advantage to keep Porscha safe. "Appears that was a wise decision."

"More like your fatal one," Pat backed himself and his hostage towards the last remaining tunnel entrance. The hand scratched sign said dead-end. He glanced down seeing a wall about thirty yards behind him inwardly cursing taking the time to talk to Porscha. However, if his planed worked it would have been the right decision. Now he needed to find a way out alive. "We're leaving. Move out of the way."

"Not going to happen," Hogan said. He took a step towards Nottington as Kinch moved to cover the entire entrance of the tunnel which led to freedom. If the crazed knife totting maniac got past the colonel, he'd never get past Kinch. "Let her go and we can talk."

"Talk? What's left to discuss?" Nottington taunted.

"A plane will arrive shortly to take you back to London. If this is a misunderstanding as you say, then it can be cleared up," Hogan took a half step forward.

"Stop! Back up or I'll cut her," he ordered.

"Thought you were on our side?" Hogan said.

"She's a kraut, what difference does it make?"

"I thought you wanted to help Germany win the war," Porscha said. She whimpered as he pulled her neck back farther.

"He's dead, sir," Wilson said kneeling between Garlotti and Olsen, a hand on Olsen's neck near his carotid artery.

Tears fell from Porscha's eyes.

Hogan's face remained tightly controlled, anger simmering in his eyes. He kept his attention focused on the traitor needing to defuse the situation before the body count went higher. With hand signals, he told his men to take a step backwards.

"Can't let you send me home until my mission is complete. We're both working toward the same thing, an end to this damn war. Now clear a path for us," Nottington ordered.

"Can't do that, Corporal," Hogan said. "Too many Allied deaths. Your way out alive is to drop that knife. I promise you'll be on that plane heading for London. This has gone too far for you to complete your mission. It must be reworked, and another solution found."

"My contacts are suspicious and won't work with anyone else!"

"Then by now they realize you're not going to show. If you did, they'd not believe you and kill you instead of taking the bait. The mission is a bust. Time to regroup," Hogan commanded.

A moan came from the cell room, and sounds of movement could be heard. "Take it easy, sir," Wilson said as his patient rolled over on his back. Smitty's eyes blinked trying to stay open. "Slow easy breathes."

"Where's Newkirk?" Nottington demanded. Why didn't he finish Smitty off when he had the chance?

"Taking care of business," Hogan said; his back turned so he couldn't see Wilson or the downed men.

Porscha cried out as the knife slit the tender skin on her throat, a thin line of blood seeping out of the wound.

"He's not here!" LeBeau yelled fearful of Porscha dying.

"Where is Newkirk then?" Nottington demanded angrily again.

* * *

Newkirk wiped the tears from his eyes. He'd never cried so much in his entire life as he had in the past few days. He'd lost friends in war, his entire plane crew, and friends here in camp without shedding a tear. The anger he felt at their deaths fueling his desire to wipe out the Nazis. Rita's death hit him on a different level, something he hadn't felt since his grandmother's death. The women who meant the most to him in the world both cruelly murdered.

* * *

Peter walked into the shop where he fenced the merchandise he liberated from the rightful owners after leaving his grams funeral. Not sure why, but his feet brought him here without his brain's input.

"Hey Peter, haven't seen you in a few days," Alfred greeted him as he entered. The bell above the door chiming as the door opened.

"Buried my grandmother today," Peter answered, head down walking over to the counter filled with jewelry.

"I heard and I'm sorry," the elderly proprietor said. "If you need anything…"

"Thanks," Peter managed a weak smile.

"What brings you in today?"

Peter shrugged his shoulders. "Got any new orders?" Requested specialty items Alfred paid him extra for obtaining.

"Nothing at the moment. Not sure you're in the right mind frame to work today. Come back in a couple of days and I'll see what turns up," Alfred said wiping the counter glass with a cloth to remove the fingerprints. On the surface, the store appeared to sell second hand merchandise.

"My bird's birthday is coming up. Got anything interesting?" Peter said looking at Alfred for the first time.

The elderly man's eyes softened. Peter was one of his favourites, and he'd cut him a deal under the circumstances. "Got a few pieces of new merchandise in a couple of days ago and haven't even priced it." He reached under the counter pulling out a black box, sat it on the counter, and then removed the lid. "See anything in here she might appreciate?"

Peter pulled a couple of items from the box mostly men's items nothing appropriate for Rita. A silver necklace on the side of the box caught his attention. He pulled out the silver cross with four tear drop rubies inside the cross. "Where did you get this?"

"Nice piece. It would look lovely on Rita's neck," Alfred said with a smile.

"Where did you get it?" Peter demanded fury showing.

"Hold on there. I don't disclose my collectors. Protected you more than once," the older man said sternly.

Peter turned the cross over pointing to the inscription MN 1912 etched into the silver. "This was ripped off my dead grams neck. Me grampy gave it to me grams on their first Christmas as husband and wife. WHO?"

Alfred looked stricken unsure what to do for a moment. Self-preservation his main objective, but knowing the boys involved the Bobbies would never be called into the situation. After a moment he replied, "Jude."

"The bloody druggie?" Peter's voice filled with rage.

"He's brought in a few pieces. Didn't ask where they came from just like I don't ask you."

"He MURDERED me grams!" Peter paced around a like an elephant in a crystal shop store. "I'll kill him."

"Take the necklace and go. Don't tell me anything," Alfred put the cross in a small bag and handed it to the teen. "We never discuss this again." Jude had been so high when he came in he never noticed being shorted on the price. Peter was one of his best collectors. The small amount paid for the necklace wasn't enough to worry about if it meant keeping him out of a murder investigation. He might deal in stolen goods, but murder wasn't in his repertoire. Peter placed the bag in his coat pocket storming out the store, the door shutting with a bang behind him.

Several hours later, Smitty and Peter entered the house they'd tracked Jude too. Smitty searched the downstairs rooms as Peter went upstairs. No one was downstairs, so Smitty climbed the stairs two at a time locating Peter in a back bedroom. Jude half lay and half sat against the wall feeling no pain high on some drug making him mellow. Around the room the loot he'd stolen from the old ladies he'd murdered and hadn't sold yet lay scattered. Peter picked up several items belonging to his grams putting them in a bag. Once finished he grabbed Jude by the collar pulling him up on his feet.

Jude's eyes attempted to focus on Peter, "What do you want?"

"You murdered me grams!" Peter yelled.

"Nah been here all night," Jude's words slurred, his body nearly slack.

Peter balled his fist up and hit Jude with everything in him. The older boy tried to defend himself as Smitty and Peter's fists struck him repeatedly. Whatever drugs he was on made him unable to fight back, his punches never contacting with Peter or Smitty. A pocket knife fell out of Jude's pocket. Peter picked it up and stabbed Jude in stomach, then drew the knife upward until he hit bone. Jude fell to the ground crying in pain.

"That's what you did to me grams and those other old ladies. You deserve worse," Peter spat at him.

Jude's eyes clouded over as his blood covered the ground. His breathing became ragged and then he didn't take another breath.

Peter watched in horror not truly meaning to kill the boy. His anger had taken over, but reality hit him hard as he'd never seen a human die.

"Come on, let's go," Smitty said. Peter, unable to move, didn't respond. "Peter?" he got no response. Smitty picked up the bag of Peter's grandmother's belongings and then pulled Peter's arm to get him out of there. He got Peter back to his grandmother's house. No one was home when the boys arrived as the maid and butler both had the night off. His grandmother played cards with the Commissioner's wife every Thursday evening, so she gave the night off to the hired help.

Smitty put his best friend in the shower fully clothed to wash off Jude's blood. The blood and water mixed flowing out the drain. The hot water ran out after a few minutes leaving cold water to come out the shower. Peter threw up and wasn't coherent or scarcely able to follow simple commands.

"What's going on in here?" Smitty's grandmother asked coming into the bath startling her grandson.

"Peter's sick, and I wasn't sure what else to do," Smitty said with a plea in his eyes.

"Oh the poor child, it's grief from the funeral," she said with sympathy in her voice. "Such a terribly tragedy. Go get a pair of your pajamas while I get these wet clothes off of him."

Peter threw up again before he was dressed in the warm dry clothes. Smitty's grandmother put him to bed and then called a doctor friend of hers to tend to him. The doctor sedated Peter, so he'd sleep through the night. The Bobbies showed up early the next morning wanting to question Peter in Jude's murder. Due to her influence and assurance that the boys had been at her home since the funeral stopped the investigation into them. Smitty never told the doctor or his grandmother the true cause of Peter's reaction. Peter woke late in the day, but didn't speak for three days after killing Jude.

* * *

"I'm sorry Rita, but I won't be able to revenge your death. But you will have justice. The RAF will ensure Pat is punished," Newkirk said. Unsure how long he'd been in the alcove, he got up and dusted off his pants. "Enough time in memories. Need to get back to the mission."

He left his alcove of privacy walking down the tunnel. The cigarette in his pocket calling his name, he pulled it, but stopped. Pat's angry voice filtered down the tunnel asking where Newkirk was.

* * *

Author's note: Drugs react differently in people. Some make a person highly combative while others leave them unable to coordinate their actions.

Showers in the 1930's weren't like showers today with nearly unlimited hot water. Hot water would have run out quickly.


	20. Chapter 20

"My mission isn't over, and I can still complete the objective, sir," Pat said still holding Porscha hostage. He moved the knife, so it wasn't cutting into her skin.

"Corporal, I'm ordering you to drop the knife," Hogan said not believing for a moment the order would work.

"Can't do that, colonel. Now where is Newkirk?"

"He's out on business," Hogan answered wondering himself where the Englander was.

Taking in the scene from behind Nottington, Newkirk couldn't see everything, but he saw Porscha being held hostage and a glimpse of Kinch in the background. His bird might be gone, but he'd do anything to keep Olsen from feeling the same pain. "I'm right 'ere."

Nottington angled himself and Porscha so he to watch both Hogan and Newkirk. He knew he wasn't getting out of this alive, but if Peter went down at least his death wouldn't be in vain. "So nice of you to join us," his voice dripped with sarcasm.

"You wanted me. Quit hiding behind a skirt and face me like a man," Newkirk held a pencil sharpener in his right hand. There was no way to hit Pat killing him fast enough to free Porscha without the knife at her throat killing her; the bastard would have to be talked down.

"I do that and they all jump me! Don't treat me like a fool," his grip on the hostage tightened.

"Nobody will jump you, I give you me word. Now face me like a man," Peter took a couple of steps back with a firm grip on his knife. "Colonel, assure him."

Hogan hesitated, unwilling to promise, but saw no other option. However, he had an ace up his sleeve. "If Porscha is set free, no one will come near you. We're all Allied soldiers and want to end this peacefully."

With one eye on Hogan and the other on Newkirk, his decision made. He didn't believe Hogan, but believed that if he acted quickly enough his goal could still be obtained. Pushing Porscha towards Hogan, Nottington rounded facing Newkirk, his knife raised poised to slice into the bothersome man who plagued his entire life. Newkirk took a step back as Nottington raised his arm to block the attack. A shot rang out making everyone duck, a cry of pain tore from Nottington's throat as the knife fell. The bullet shattered his right ulna halfway between his elbow and wrist making it impossible for him to hold the knife. Newkirk tackled and knocked his nemeses off his feet with both men landing in a heap on the ground. Before Nottington could struggle, Hogan, Carter, and LeBeau were pinning him down.

"You lied!" Nottington cursed venom spewing from his mouth.

Kinch stood over the man with a smirk. "No he didn't. I never moved towards you. Didn't have too."

"Carter, hold pressure on that wound. Kinch," Hogan indicated with his head to take the position he was holding on their prisoner's legs. The fight was leaving the man, but Hogan wasn't about to let his guard down. The shot would bring reinforcements. After Kinch had a good hold on Nottington, Hogan walked over to his downed men.

Porscha was kneeling beside Olsen, tears in her eyes as she caressed his head. Smitty was leaning against the wall barely conscious.

"Joe?" Hogan asked, his expression grim.

"Smith and Olsen should make a full recovery." He cleared his throat. "Garlotti is dead, sir," Wilson's eyes were bright before blinking away the emotion.

Hogan closed his eyes and lowered his head for a moment before meeting the medic's concerned gaze. "How?"

"Broken neck."

Hogan nodded his head.

Two dozen armed men came into the area via the tunnels with weapons ready to fire. Hogan held up a hand stopping them. "Situation is secured, but we have several wounded. Follow Wilson's orders. Make sure the prisoner is secured." He turned back to Wilson. "We need him alive. London is sending a plane tomorrow night. Have him and Smith ready for transport."

"Yes, sir."

Hogan stood back as the medic took over the scene. LeBeau ran to bring the other medics and supplies into the area.

The colonel ran a hand over his face, how was he going to explain Garlotti's death to the Germans and Smith leaving the camp? Kinch was released from his hold on Nottington and walked over leaning against the same wall as Hogan.

"He will never have use of that arm again," Kinch said solemnly watching the medic work on the prisoner.

Hogan raised an eyebrow cautiously asking, "Is that going to be a problem for you?"

Kinch faced his commander, "No sir. His arm or Newkirk's life is an easy choice." Hogan studied his second's face for a moment before nodding agreement. "How, sir, are we going to explain this?"

"Any ideas?"

"Well, Smitty and Garlotti fight and Smitty killed him?" Kinch tossed out.

"The Gestapo would get involved, and I don't want to deal with them." Hogan said then got that look on his face as a plan took shape. "Remember when we hide the Tiger tank in the recreation hall? We had to rig the wall to come down to move the tank inside. Is that rigging still there?"*

"Yes, sir."

"We're about to have a tragic accident. Take whomever you need and get it ready. The wall needs to fall down killing Garlotti instantly, and seriously Smitty and Olsen. Unfortunately, Smitty will succumb to his injuries in the middle of the night," Hogan explained.

"Will Klink believe it, sir? He'll want to see Smitty's body and Smitty isn't dead." Kinch liked the idea, but part of his job was to point out holes in plans.

"He will if we time it right. I don't want to place Smitty or Olsen under the wall, so find stand-ins for them. We need to make this happen fast, but safely," Hogan ordered. Kinch nodded his head and took off to compete his assignment.

Hogan looked over the scene again staying out of the medics' way. Lots of questions needed answered, but the welfare of his men came first. Newkirk was sitting beside Smitty trying to keep him awake and talking. The nurse in Porscha came out caring for the still unconscious Olsen. Her ministrations showed gentleness and love, the tears in her eyes the same expression. He knew she loved Olsen, but wasn't ready to give his approval for her to stay in Germany. A few moments later, the patients were loaded on stretchers and moved to the infirmary. Newkirk took the head of Smitty's stretcher.

Hogan stopped Wilson from following behind the patients. "How is Nottington?"

"The bullet shattered the bone, miraculously it missed both the artery and the major veins so blood loss is a minimum. He's in considerable pain, which I will treat. When he gets to London, I suspect they'll amputate just below the elbow. He'll live," Wilson answered.

Hogan filled him in on the plan Kinch was implementing then let the medic go attend to the living. He walked over to Garlotti's body and kneeled beside the sergeant. His eyes were closed, and if one didn't know better, he almost appeared to be sleeping. Hogan looked around trying to determine how his man was killed. The empty canteen was close to the cell door, and the key was still in the lock. It appeared a ruse brought Garlotti close enough to the door to be overpowered. Only Nottington could answer those questions. Hogan didn't expect to get any answers from him. Maybe London will find out during their interrogations.

The broken stool lay in pieces all over the area obviously used as a weapon more than once. Hopefully Smitty and Olsen would fill in the missing pieces.

Reynolds, Davis, and Carter came back into the area with a stretcher. "Sir," Reynolds started, a catch in his throat belying how hard this was for all of them. "Kinch is ready for Garlotti."

Hogan nodded and stood aside. The three men took extra care of their friend's body as they moved him onto the stretcher. Hogan followed as the solemn procession transported the body to the rec hall tunnel entrance.

Kinch meet Hogan's eyes as he came through the floor. "We're ready. Have Willis, Olsen's usual stand in, and Meyer portraying Smitty. How do you want to handle this since you're restricted to the barracks?"

"I'll come running as soon as the wall falls. Give me five minutes to get into position." Hogan stopped looking around at the men willing to carry this out to save the operation. "Thank you everyone. I understand this is hard and we'll have time to grieve soon."

* * *

"Herr Kommandant! Herr Kommandant!" Schultz yelled as he ran up the stairs of the Kommandantur throwing the outer door open. "Herr Kommandant!" he yelled once again opening the private office door.

"What is it? Why are you yelling so?" Klink stood up alarmed at the tone and the look on his sergeant's face.

"There's been an accident and prisoners are hurt."

"Where?" Klink followed the Sergeant of the Guards out of his office to the recreation hall. Hogan arrived at the same time. Klink held Hogan's gaze for a moment before nodding his head in approval allowing the American colonel to be released from his barracks confinement in this situation.

"What happened?" Hogan asked before Klink asked the same question. Several men spoke at once. Hogan held up his hand and pointed to LeBeau.

"They were playing ball and the wall just fell down on them!"

"Who's under there?" Klink demanded. Several men were moving pieces of the falling wall away careful to not cause further injuries.

A moan was heard as the trapped men became visible. Kinch was lying next to Olsen's stand in, who was lying next to Smitty's stand in. Garlotti was positioned in such a way to make his broken neck apparent. Wilson and two other medics moved in quickly to check the downed men out. The senior medic placed his hands on Garlotti's neck to check for a pulse then turned towards the colonels.

"He's dead, sirs," Wilson tried unsuccessfully to hide his emotions.

Klink gasped and turned sorrowful eyes to Hogan, who closed his eyes for a moment. "How are the others?" Klink and Hogan asked simultaneously.

Wilson was working on Smitty while Brenner wrapped Olsen's head to cover the man's true identity. "We need to get them to the infirmary now!" Three stretchers appeared out of the crowd and the wounded and dead were loaded then carried to the infirmary.

Kinch stood and Hogan placed a hand on his shoulder to keep his second in command from swaying, a trickle of blood ran down his forehead. "What happened?"

"We were playing dodge ball against the wall. We've done it hundreds of times. Sudden Tony yells," Kinch's voice broke, and he took a deep breathe before continuing. "He yelled watch out and shoved me out of the way. I…I can't believe he…he's gone."

"Take it easy. Let's get you over to the infirmary," Hogan squeezed Kinch's shoulder. "Kommandant, I'd like to stay with my men until their conditions are stable."

"Of course, your restriction to the barracks is lifted. I want a full report as soon as possible. I'm sorry for the loss of your man," Klink too was visibly shaken from the accident.

"Thank you, sir," Hogan answered his command face not quite in place with emotion visible in his eyes.

Klink gave Schultz orders to clean up the debris and ensure Sergeant Wilson had anything he needed then returned to his office to begin the paperwork on the incident.

"How did you get the cut on your head?" Hogan asked walking with a hand on Kinch's arm towards their destination.

"Happened when the wall fell. It's just a scratch, sir," Kinch answered and stumbled slightly.

Hogan tightened his grip, "Uh huh, we'll have Wilson check it out, anyway."

"Thought we needed someone who could give Klink an explanation under the pile up."

"Good thinking," Hogan said as they entered the infirmary and he led Kinch to a chair to sit down. Turning to Wilson, he asked, "How is everyone?"

"Willis and Meyer had no injuries and have gone back to their barracks via the tunnels. Olsen is still unconscious, and Smitty is in and out. I expect both to make a full recovery. Nottington is sedated below with a medic and guards present. He will definitely lose the arm, but he's stable enough to transport when the plane arrives. I highly suggest both men are moved on stretchers and a medic is on board the plane," Wilson replied.

"I'll inform London," Hogan started, and both men turned when Kinch slid out of the chair falling on the floor.

* * *

* Episode – Hold That Tiger


	21. Chapter 21

"He has a minor concussion, sir," Wilson said after examining his newest patient. "I'll keep him here overnight with the others, but he'll be fine in a few days."

Hogan let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "Good. Keep me informed, and I need a full report for Klink which includes Smitty's demise."

"How are you going to convince Klink he died?"

"One step at a time. Let me know if you need anything," Hogan said as he left the infirmary for Klink's office.

"How are the men?" Klink asked as Hogan sat in the chair in front the desk.

"Lieutenant Smith is the most seriously injured. Sergeant Olsen is still unconscious, and Sergeant Kinchloe has a mild concussion," Hogan replied taking the drink Klink offered. The Kommandant usually wasn't so generous with his alcohol, but they'd had an atypical week.

"Should they be sent to the hospital in town?"

Hogan thought for a moment before answering. This was tricky, the Kommandant needed to believe Smitty was hurt enough to die, but not so serious at this moment to send him to a German hospital. "Wilson believes he can handle their injuries and the hospital wouldn't be able to offer much additional help. Depending upon who is on duty prisoners sometimes receive worse care."

"Unfortunately, that's true," Klink shook his head. He didn't agree with the practice, but understand some of it. Many had lost husbands, sons, brothers, and other relatives in the war, and they saw any Allied soldier as the scorn of their grief. "However, I don't want another prisoner to die."

"Nor do I," Hogan interrupted. "Why don't we give Wilson a chance, and see how they are in the morning?"

"Very well. Are all the men in the infirmary?"

"Yes, sir."

"How are you doing after your encounter with that Gestapo Dog? The report I received indicated severe bruising and possible fractured ribs. Your confinement was to allow you to heal, but I understand the need to be with your men. However, I don't want to aggravate your injuries either."

Nottington would tell them nothing now, and he had to keep an appearance up with the Germans. "I'm healing. My men need me now," and wasn't that the truth he thought. "I promise to not overdue it, and I'm sure Wilson will keep me in line if I even try. Sir, I would like to hold a memorial service for Sergeant Garlotti tomorrow, and a grave will need to be dug."

"Very well, have the grave dug and hold a service tomorrow. I'm banning anyone from entering the recreation hall until we can assure the safety of the rest of the building and make repairs. I want no more injuries," Klink said studying Hogan. "You're allowed to move around the camp normally. If I even suspect you're doing too much, you will be confined to the barracks again. Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal, sir. I'll assign a work detail for both the grave and the service."

"I want a personal daily update from the medic on all the wounded including _you_! Go take care of your men," Klink dismissed the American.

"Yes, sir," Hogan stood throwing Klink an almost correct salute. After explaining Klink's request to Wilson and getting an update on his men, Hogan entered the tunnels looking for Porscha. He found her in the room she'd been assigned.

"How's Derrick?" her face etched in concern.

"He still hasn't regained consciousness, but Wilson believes he will soon. We need to talk," Hogan said taking a seat across from the young lady. She nodded her head. "Tell me how you came to be Nottington's prisoner." She drew in a deep breath then blow it out explaining the argument with Olsen and leaving to find Nottington. Hogan raised an eyebrow, had he misread her? Was she a danger to his team and the operation? "Why did you want to see him?"

"I needed to understand his motivation to becoming a traitor to his country. He's the only traitor I know, and if I was going to do the same to my country, I needed to understand." She had to be forthcoming and honest or she'd be sent to London.

"What do you mean?"

"Patrick fought for his passion, his love of King Edward and his admiration of Hitler. I love Derrick and his passion for saving Germany from the horrors of the SS and Gestapo and the High Command. They have convinced me I have to take a side. The entire war, all I've done is stayed on the sidelines trying to protect my life. I've been hiding and not living. I'm tired of hiding. Things in this life that are important are worth fighting for, and I will not sit on the sidelines anymore," she looked Hogan directly in the eyes.

"Which side of the war are you on?"

"The side I've always been on and too afraid to take a stand."

Hogan raised an eyebrow for her to continue.

"Germany deserves better and we have to take out the corrupt rulers who have destroyed morality in our homeland. I'm willing to fight for a chance to have a life with Derrick in freedom with no more Gestapo. Nothing is more important to me," she said with a slight smile. "Some of my countrymen will call me a traitor, but the Allies are our best chance of stopping all the madness in Germany. I have no illusions and understand it won't be pretty, and I'm sure I can't even comprehend how horrible things might get before the end. But if I can do anything to save lives on both sides, I'm willing to take the chance. Love and life are worth fighting for, for me."

Hogan ran a hand over his face before asking. "What would you do if Derrick broke up with you?"

A sharp pain dug into her heart. "My life would be less without his love, but that doesn't mean Germany still doesn't need my help to rid itself of all this ugliness. I had a close friend, we grew up together and were closer than Schwestern. Her name was Anna," she stopped clearing the tears from her eyes.

Hogan waited patiently having heard some of the story from Olsen.

"A Gestapo sergeant wouldn't take no for an answer, she told him repeatedly her fiancé was fighting in France and even showed him the ring she wore, which had belonged to her fiancé's grandmother. He tried to charm her, but he was an awful man that made her skin crawl. When he looked at a woman, you knew his thoughts were evil. He came to her home one day declaring they were dating, she tried to resist him. He tied her to the bed and…," she wept.

Hogan moved closer putting a hand on her shoulder, "Take your time."

"We were supposed to have dinner, so I went by finding him there. He told me they were a couple and had spent his three-day pass in a romantic bliss, but he had to return to work. Then he went into the bedroom, dressed, and kissed Anna on the head and ordered her to have his favourite meal prepared when he returned on Thursday. He left grinning," she shivered and paused to breathe. "Anna had been so hurt and unsure how many times he'd raped her. I untied her and took her to my house. On Thursday, he showed up at my house angry Anna hadn't followed his command. He got it in his head then that meant he could have both of us. He came after me," she cried harder. "Anna convinced him to take her home declaring she didn't want to share him and she was sorry for misbehaving. She stayed with him and did every despicable thing he demanded so he wouldn't do the same to me."

Fury ran through Hogan's veins. "Did he?"

"No, never," she looked up with a tearstained face. "She stopped him and sacrificed herself to save me. He threatened anytime she resisted him. He tied me up in her bedroom forcing me to watch him do what he wanted to her many times. His mind was given over completely to evil. The things he did," sobs wracked her body.

Hogan had a difficult time forcing himself to remain calm, but waited giving her the time she needed and not push.

"This went on for six months before Anna got pregnant. That enraged him and he became crueler. She tried to provoke any parental feelings he might have, but it didn't work. He came to my home in a rage and told me that Anna left to deal with the pregnancy. There was blood on his clothes. I was to never ask about her again. He ranted about some new captain who had just been assigned to the office where he worked that week. Afterward, he…he grinned that feral grin he had when he hurt Anna. He came towards me, fortunately a knock on my door stopped him. My Großvater let himself in my house just in time to save me from the same fate of my best friend. Grandfather wasn't aware of what had happened to Anna, but he got the animal to leave. At my grandfather's insistence, I moved in with him to avoid being alone where that man could hurt me. Within a month of Anna's death, he was shipped to the Russian Front. I'm not sure how, but I suspect that my Großvater was an influence in getting rid of him."

"I'm so sorry," Hogan didn't know what else could be said. He was sure his friend, Captain Fuchs, was who sent the sergeant to the Russian Front. He'd spoken of sending men he couldn't work with to various other assignments to ensure his being an underground agent wasn't exposed when he came to the Hammelburg Gestapo office.

Porscha was quiet for several moments before she could speak, "So you see Colonel Hogan, even if I lose Derrick, I have to fight so no one else suffers what Anna did. She sacrificed herself to save me. I've done nothing but hide in fear, and that's not honouring my friend."

"What do you mean fight? How does that look to you?" He was regaining more respect for Olsen's girlfriend as they spoke.

"I have no idea. It's something I need to discuss with Derrick. He said sometimes he observes what goes on in town. I know everything that goes on in the hospital. Maybe something I learn can help in the Allies war effort," she looked hopeful.

Olsen's words that he didn't want Porscha involved in the underground came back to Hogan. He needed to tread lightly. "You and Bryan err…Derrick will need to discuss the possibilities. I don't want to get into anything specific without his input."

"Can I sit with him?"

"Not until nightfall. He's in our infirmary and the guards can enter at any time. After lights out, it's much less likely they'll come into the building. You can see him then," Hogan promised.

"I don't want to do anything which would cause him danger," she said now calm from the telling of Anna's story. She'd told no one as much as she had Hogan fearing if she hadn't been forthcoming then her future in Germany might be endangered. The more she got to know Olsen's commanding officer, the more she trusted him and didn't fear for her life. These Allied men weren't like the Gestapo. There was more she couldn't go into and many things she'd seen that left scars on her soul from Anna's attacker. Now a passion burned in her which had never touched her life before, she had to act to make right the wrongs. To help heal the Annas' of the world, cause they'd need someone they could talk to who would understand and not doubt anything told. "I might not be the most capable of soldiers, but Patrick told me some information which you should have."

"What was that?" Hogan asked immediately intrigued.

"A local man brought him here from England. He had contact with people in England and arranged the route Patrick traveled," she revealed.

"Did he tell you his name?"

"Ja, so ist es Herr Rüdiger Fleischman. He lives at the edge of town on a large house. He's well off and connected with many high profile people."

"Thank you. This information will save many lives. Is there anything you need?" Hogan's mind was already racing on how to use the information to cripple the German underground in England and shut their pipeline down here.

"No, I'm just concerned for Derrick, and the others injured."

"I won't keep a guard on you, but someone will be around so ask if you need anything. You are not to come upstairs unless escorted," Hogan said standing up.

"I understand," Porscha replied.

"Good," Hogan said then left. He needed to contact Allied command and wished Kinch was making the transmission. Not that he didn't trust the other men, he depended upon his second in command to ensure highly classified information was sent accurately.


	22. Chapter 22

"How are ya feelin'?" Newkirk asked sitting in the infirmary next to Smitty.

"Like I was on the losing end of a fight," his old friend replied.

"Well, I've tried to teach you to fight. You've just not been a good student," Newkirk smirked.

Smitty rolled his eyes. "How's Pat?"

"Wilson's keeping him knocked out until the plane comes. And I made sure the leg chains are securely attached. He isn't going anywhere. Why didn't we put them back on him after the truth serum?" Newkirk shook his head in anger.

"Yeah. Enough blame to go around there."

"Poor Tony. His family will be devastated. They've even helped us in the past.* I'll tell you the story some time," Newkirk's grief was just below the surface.

"Look forward to hearing it. How long was he in camp?"

"Nearly two years. How did you and Pat start fighting?" Newkirk needed to change the topic.

"Came out of the alcove and he stood over someone, wasn't sure who but he was about to snap their neck. I jumped him from behind, but the bruises from the Kraut interrogation hampered my ability to move fast. You see how well that went," Smitty smirked and rubbed his sore ribs.

"Olsen's alive because of you," Newkirk countered.

Smitty raised up observing the unconscious sergeant in the next bed. "Hope he wakes up, he's been out for at least twelve hours."

"He will. Pat tried to tell the colonel, Wilson, and Carter a farce," Newkirk said. Smitty raised an eyebrow. "He tried say he didn't kill Rita, but you did."

Anger poured out of Smitty. "Do you believe that?"

"Not for a bloody second!"

Smitty searched Newkirk's eyes for a long moment then let out a deep exhale. "I'd never hurt her!"

"Pat was always a liar. It was just another in a long line of lies," Newkirk laid a hand on Smitty's arm to calm his friend.

"He told me I was responsible for her death because I informed her Pat was wanted for treason. Maybe I am. If I'd said nothing…"

"NO! Stop 'ight there. The SOB responsible put a bullet into his sister. No one could hide anything about Pat to Rita. She always found out. You've got nothing to feel guilty about and I don't even want to suspect you're thinking along those lines," Newkirk got right into Smitty face eyes ablaze. "You 'ear me?" Smitty reluctantly shook his head yes. "That isn't good enough. I wanna hear you say it."

He hesitated for a moment before conceding, "Rita's death isn't my fault."

"That's bloody hell the truth," Newkirk sat back watching his friend process their conversation. He was feeling better about where Smitty's head was as Colonel Hogan came into the infirmary.

"Newkirk, Smitty, how are you doing?" Hogan asked standing between Smith's and Olsen's beds.

"Better, sir."

"He's getting his head screwed back on straight. Course it's never been right before, so what can we expect," Newkirk said with a gleam in his eye. Hogan chuckled and Smitty groaned.

"Good. It might not be the best timing, but I need discuss something Nottington said," Hogan started.

"We were just talking over what I suspect you're asking about, sir. I can give you the name of a dozen witnesses I was with when Nottington shot Rita. And they saw her walking down the street coming toward us after she'd been shot. If you have any doubts, Colonel Forbes was in the group," Smitty said before the colonel could begin the discussion.

"Didn't believe him when he spun the story, but you needed to hear his version since he's tried it twice. I have no doubts who is responsible," Hogan said his eyes expressing the same truth.

"Thank you, sir," Smitty said with a nod.

"Has anyone gone over the plan to kill you tonight?" Hogan asked with a straight face. Smitty looked up at him rather alarmed. "I'll take that as a no. Don't worry it won't hurt."

* * *

"Herr Kommandant! Herr Kommandant wake up please. Herr Kommandant wake up," Langenscheidt shook his commanding officer. The overhead light on in the room usually woke Klink up.

"Wh…whh…what? What's going on," Klink squeezed his eyes shut at the bright light.

"You're needed in the infirmary," Langenscheidt held up Klink's coat.

"Why?" Klink inserted his monocle.

"Colonel Hogan said to bring you. He says it's urgent."

"Hogan's not in charge of this camp corporal!"

"Ja, sir," Langenscheidt helped Klink stand and get into his coat and then put his slippers down so Klink could get into them. "We need to hurry, Kommandant."

Langenscheidt manoeuvred the usually drowsy camp commander out of his house into the cool night air and towards the infirmary. The cool temperatures helped wake Klink when they arrived he was at least somewhat alert.

"Hogan this better be important to get me out of bed at 02:10!" Klink yelled entering the infirmary. "What are you doing here?"

"Thought you'd want to know immediately that Lieutenant Smith succumbed to his injuries," Hogan said with a straight face.

"Whaaat?" Klink stopped blinking his eyes trying to comprehend Hogan's statement.

"Lieutenant Smith's official time of death is 01:49, sir," Wilson said standing next to Smitty's bed a white sheet covering the body.

Klink swallowed hard before moving closer. "I need to see the body. Why are the lights dim in here?"

"The other patients are sleeping, and I don't want them to know until morning," Wilson said moving the sheet off of Smitty's face.

Klink observed the closed eyes, pale drawn face, then nodded his head and Wilson replaced the sheet. Turning to his American counterpart, "I'm sorry Hogan. Two deaths is too many."

"One death is too many," Hogan retorted. Klink's eyes narrowed then he shook his head in agreement. "I'm sorry Kommandant, I'm in shock myself. Not accustomed to losing men."

"No commander should ever apologize for that," Klink said compassionately.

"Yes, sir," Hogan looked down at the floor.

"How are the others?" Klink moved to the other side of the infirmary where the other patients lay sleeping to give Hogan a moment.

"Kinch will be fine in a few days. Olsen should also, but he hasn't woken up yet," Wilson started. At that moment Olsen woke up confused and agitated, he tried to climb out of bed.

"Porscha!" Olsen yelled as much as his throat would allow. "Porscha, Porscha," he kept crying out.

"Give us a moment, please," Wilson ordered. "LeBeau!"

LeBeau who had been in the background ran to Olsen's side. "Hey Bryan, you're safe in the infirmary. Calm down. Everyone is safe."

"Sergeant, you're all right," Wilson said in his most soothing medic voice pushing the man back down on the bed. He'd been hoping his patient would regain consciousness, but this was the worst moment for it to happen.

"Louie?" Olsen's voice was dry and scratchy.

"It's all right. Here drink some of this," he handed him a cup with water. "Glad you're awake. I know you have questions, but lie still for a few minutes and let Wilson check you out."

"What's the Frenchman doing here?" Klink demanded looking at Hogan.

"LeBeau is Olsen's best friend in camp, and can help if Olsen has any disorientation upon waking. Plus Wilson needed help with three patients," Hogan hoped the sleeping pill they'd put in the Kommandant's bedtime hot milk would have kept him groggy through this entire scene. He seemed to come too alert for the ruse to work. "Sir, we should allow the medics to care for their patients." He herded the Kommandant towards the entrance.

"We'll go to my office." Once in the office, Klink sat down behind his desk. "Do we know why he died?"

"Sergeant Wilson said he had trouble breathing, he might have had a broken rib that punctured his lung," Hogan walked over to the credenza and poured two drinks handing one to Klink.

"In light of what's happened, I will request a doctor come out and examine Kinchloe and Olsen in the morning. I don't want to lose anyone else," Klink drank half his drink in one gulp.

"That's probably a good idea, sir," Hogan said hoping he'd forget between the alcohol and the sleeping pill still in his system. Klink yawned after finishing his drink. "Perhaps we should finish this discussion in the morning."

"Yes, Langenscheidt!" Klink yelled and the meek corporal ran into the office.

"Ja, Herr Kommandant?"

"Take Colonel Hogan back to his barracks and ensure Sergeant Wilson has anything he needs."

"It will be done, Herr Kommandant," Langenscheidt and Hogan left the office while Klink stumbled back to his bed.

* * *

Hogan closed the door to Barracks 2, and immediately went to Kinch's bunk hitting the hidden lever to raise the bunk and lower the ladder, then he climbed down into the tunnel going directly to the tunnel infirmary below the main infirmary. Porscha was getting Smitty settled into a cot.

"You're looking good for a dead man," Newkirk said as he placed a blanket over his friend.

"Did we pulled it off, sir?" Smitty asked Hogan.

"He bought it." Hogan said.

"My face was uncovered long enough I ran out of air, so I took a shallow breath."

"That's why we rearranged the infirmary and put you in the darkest corner and removed the lightbulb from that side, so you could breathe," Hogan said. "How is he?" he directed at Porscha.

"He will be fine once we get the makeup off of him. Newkirk, you did an excellent job he looks like a dead person." Porscha answered wiping the makeup with a cloth.

"Why thank you," Newkirk took a bow. "I was in show business before the war. Any problems with Klink, sir?"

"He's considering bringing a doctor out tomorrow to look at Kinch and Olsen. Hopefully, he won't remember that in the morning."

"Why would that be a bad thing?" Porscha asked.

"The only underground doctor is out of town, and any other doctor might ask to see Smitty's body to determine cause of death," Hogan said.

"Ahh…that makes sense," All of this was new to her and she didn't understand the complexities of their situation yet. If there's an underground doctor, perhaps he needed an underground nurse, Porscha thought to herself. There had to be a way she could become involved in the underground.

* * *

* Episode – The Pizza Parlor


	23. Chapter 23

"Dissssmiisssed," Klink yelled as he left the morning roll call formation heading back to his office. He entered his office, took his coat off, and hung it on the coat tree and sat down behind his desk in time to see Hogan enter his office and close the door. "Why are you here, Hogan?"

"Sorry, sir, I wanted to check on you," he said with complete sincerity.

"Check on me?" He sat back observing his counterpart for a moment. The American was tired and lacked his normal bluster. Losing two men under his command was noticeable in his countenance. "I'm fine. The question is how are you doing?"

"I'm fine, sir."

Klink snorted. Fine. Neither was fine, both were putting up a front for appearances' sake. "What are the plans for services? Will you have one or two?"

"I think one for both of them. Lieutenant Smith's religious beliefs call for his internment to be less than twelve hours after death. I have men digging graves and assembling caskets. We'll bury them both this morning and hold services this afternoon," Hogan explained.

"What was his religion?" Klink flipped open the thin file of the man who had been in camp less than a week.

"His mother was an American Native from the Pogo Tribe, and he followed their beliefs closely. Which included quick internment and no disturbance of the body," Hogan explained. He'd had Reynolds change the paperwork overnight as they made up the funeral rituals of a fictitious Indian tribe.

"I suppose in this circumstance we should follow their practices. Would have liked to known the true cause of death, and planned to ask the doctor to examine the body when he came out this afternoon," Klink stated.

"Doctor, sir?" Hogan raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, want him to examine Kinch and Olsen to ensure they'll recover. If I'd done that yesterday, Smith might still be alive," he looked down at the desk.

"Maybe. I don't…," Hogan's voice faded low shaking his head. Klink sensed a commander's guilt in the partial statement. Hogan's remorse over Garlotti was forefront in his mind to help with the illusion he projected. "I can have Wilson's notes available."

"Good idea. We'll have him review the records," Klink agreed to the compromise.

* * *

"Doctor Prust*, what are you doing here?" Wilson asked as the man with grey showing in his dark hair entered the infirmary.

"Hallo to you too," mirth shown on his face.

"Forgive me. Hello. Didn't realize you were back in town," the medic shook the underground doctor's hand.

"Got back this morning. Doctor Möller** was griping about having to come out here when I arrived at the office. Told him I'd take the call if he covered at the hospital. So what's happened in camp?" Prust sat his doctor's bag on the desk.

"Had our prisoner breakout of the downstairs cell and all melee broke out," he indicated for the doctor to take a seat. "Garlotti was killed; his neck broken." Wilson stopped taking a breath. "Olsen was knocked unconscious and regained consciousness fourteen hours later. He's oriented times four and passed all neuro checks. Kinch has a minor concussion. Planned to discharge him tomorrow."

"Sorry to hear about Garlotti. Where is everyone? The compound was empty."

"At the memorial services for Garlotti and Smitty." Prust raised an eyebrow at the new name. "Have two more patients downstairs. Smitty is alive, we faked his death. He was beaten unconscious but came too quickly. Nottington, the prisoner, took a bullet through his right ulna," Wilson explained.

Prust ran a hand over his face. "Wow. Okay, let's examine the upstairs patients."

* * *

Porscha replaced a cool cloth on Nottington's face and neck, the fever continued to climb due to an infection. If only a few additional medical supplies were available; the patient could be treated and kept comfortable while waiting for the plane. An IV and a Foley catheter would help save this man. She wondered if he'd be alive by the time he arrived in England. Lifting his head, she got him to drink some water. They'd cut back on the sedation due to the fever and needs to keep him hydrated.

Those items were available at the hospital, but she wondered for how much longer. Some medical supplies were already difficult to get due to the war, and she feared the trend would only continue. Would Germany be unable to treat the sick and wounded as the war progressed? The thought caused her to shutter. Were the Allies having the same problems? Americans she doubted because war hadn't touched their mainland. England didn't have ground troops fighting, but the bombings had to make life difficult. France? Czechoslovakia? How were the conquered countries medical situations? These thoughts had never occurred to her. She'd been so isolated only concerned with her tiny corner of the world.

Nottington moaned, and she tried to comfort him the best she could. If he were in the Hammelburg hospital as a traitor to the Allies, he would receive the best of care. However, if he were an ordinary prisoner, she knew the story would be different. The head nurse lost all three of her sons in the war, and her disdain for the Allies was no secret. Several months ago, an extremely ill prisoner from the camp was admitted who should have lived. Although unable to prove the death on the nurse, Porscha had always suspected the young man was murdered. Rumours abounded, but no one looked into the matter and the official cause of death was succumbing to illness. Was this what her beloved homeland had become that even those dedicated to saving lives would end of life out of anger and grief? What happened to the German soldiers captured? Did some of them lose their lives in similar circumstances? Her thoughts made her shudder. She was weary of war. Why did Hitler think he could bring his madness to the world?

"Nottington is over here," Wilson said entering the tunnel infirmary.

Porscha jumped not hearing the men prior. She turned around and her eyes widened at the visitor. "Doctor Prust?"

"Nurse Herz?" He stopped midway to the patient looking between Wilson and Porscha.

"She's been assisting us for a few days," Wilson said unsure how much to explain.

"You are the underground doctor?" Porscha walked over to the one doctor in the area she truly admired.

His ingrained need for secrecy kicked in but in this situation there was no need to deny the obvious. "Yes, I am. I didn't realize nurses had joined the underground or had knowledge of this operation."

"I've only learned of the needs of these men recently. There are two patients and this one," she moved back to Nottington with the doctor and medic following her. "He's the most severely injured. I've done all I can with the supplies available. Can you help?"

"Let me see," Doctor Prust examined his patient for several moments without speaking. "Nurse in my bag, I have one bottle of IV solution. Would you set it up? The hydration should give him a fighting chance and bring the fever down some. When does the plane arrive?"

"At eleven tonight," Wilson answered.

Prust looked at his watch, "Hmmm…eight more hours. I have a couple of medications that might help those odds." He rummaged through his doctors black back pulling out two vials and syringes. After calculating the dose in his head, he injected the medication into the Nottington. "Why the leg chains? This man is too weak to stand."

"Colonel's orders and they can't come off until he's transported later tonight," Wilson said grateful for the help.

"He caused the injuries and death?" Wilson and Porscha nodded their heads. "I can understand Robert's precautions. The care of his arm was top notch. In this environment I'm not surprised infection set in. Give him an injection every four hours of one cc each," he handed Wilson the medications and syringes.

"Yes, sir," Wilson took the items, and the group moved across the room to Smitty.

* * *

Hogan entered the barracks after the memorial service as subdued as the rest of the men in camp. They'd had deaths before, but this one was different and out of an abundance of caution, he banned the camp from using the tunnels until the traitor was safely on his way to London. Garlotti had been a favourite in camp with a lot of friends. Only a select handful of men had authorized tunnel access for security reasons, he didn't want Nottington killed for revenge. This was one prisoner he was ready to get rid of before his personal fantasy of killing the man came true. His command responsibility overrode the need for revenge. How could he look Newkirk in the eye if he killed Nottington after riding the Englander so hard to not kill the traitor?

He went down the bunk bed tunnel entrance going directly to the infirmary to check on the men hearing voices as he came close. "Michael! Welcome, this is a pleasant surprise."

"Hallo Robert," the doctor warmly shook his friend's hand. "Got back early, and it's a good thing giving the patients out here."

"How are they," the commanding officer asked scanning the room of all the occupants.

"I've examined four. Kinch and Olsen will make full recoveries; I gave them permission to move around as they feel strong enough." He stopped looking Hogan directly in the eyes. "That doesn't mean they can go on any assignments for a couple of weeks. They need time to heal, head injuries aren't something to exasperate."

Hogan nodded his head, "I understand and will ensure their activities are limited until they're cleared for full duty. What about the others?"

"Major Smith will make a full recovery, although he's got journey ahead of him. I'm concerned about his breathing, but he'll be fine until he gets to London. The beatings he experienced have left significant bruising, so he needs to remain stationary while here. I'm not sure he will be strong enough to walk to the plane even though he assures me he is. Be careful transporting him," Prust said giving the major a disapproving look.

"As per Wilson's directions, we'd already planned to move by both stretcher," Hogan said looking directly at the major.

"Sir, that's unnecessary," Smitty protested.

"I disagree, major, it's for your own good," Prust said with a firm voice.

"The doctor's decision stands," Hogan ordered with a stern warning. Smitty knew he was beat and nothing he said would change the situation. He put an arm under his head with a disgruntled sigh. Hogan held a smirk inside, he'd have responded the same way.

Prust moved the group out of the infirmary and down the hall. "Now for the other patient, I believe the medications I've administered will help stabilize him until he reaches London. Joe has the medicines and orders on how to use them. An infection has set in, which isn't unusual but I'm concerned about him and have nothing to treat it other than the Sulphur powder. If he arrives in London alive once they have him stabilized he will lose the arm. I've done all I can, we will need to wait and see how he does over the next few hours."

"What would help his chances?" Hogan asked

"Nothing short of hospitalizing him now and I know that's not an option. He should make it to London with the medications, but I wanted you to understand there is a thirty percent chance he won't."

"Thank you for your help. I appreciate your time and efforts working with the men," Hogan said nodding his head. His emotions mixed about Nottington's survival chances. The information gleaned from interrogations still winning due to the lives which could be saved.

"Now gentlemen, if you will tell me where I can exam Nurse Herz neck injury privately, I'll take a look at my next patient," Prust asked watching her closely.

"It's nothing to worry about doctor, I don't want to take up your time," Porscha argued.

"I'm sure it isn't my dear, but I am here and have the time," Prust said with a gentle smile.

"Why don't you use the room you've been staying in," Hogan suggested glad she wasn't being left out of the examinations.

"She was also accidentally dosed with a quick acting long term sedative a few days ago," Wilson offered receiving a glare from the lady.

Porscha surrendered to the inevitable exam and led the doctor to her room.

"So how did you come to be out here?" Prust asked as he removed the bandage covering the knife wound to her throat.

"It's a long story and I'm unsure what I can safely share," she winced as the tape was removed.

"That I understand and experienced the same concerns with some of the things I've seen with these men. I would hazard a guess it has something to do with your young man Olsen," Prust examined the cut. Porscha blushed. "I recognized him as one of Papa Bear's cubs immediately when you introduced him last year, as he's been the recipient of my care in the past." He felt her tense unsure if it was the tenderness in her throat or Olsen's care. "He pulled through nicely, but several months ago…I'm sure you know this."

"Please tell me from your prospective," she had known nothing about him being injured but he disappeared for several weeks without explanation.

"His arm injury last spring, when it first occurred I was unsure he'd live. He'd lost too much blood and his vital signs were weak. I spent two days at his bedside upstairs until I was sure he'd pull through." Porscha gasped. "Did I hurt you?"

"Nein, I never heard about the injury. What he does is dangerous, but I…I," she didn't have the words to continue.

"You love him and are scared of losing him, hmm?" Prust said with a gentle smile. Porscha nodded her head yes. "He's a lucky man. This cut, how did it happen?" She gave him the short version of being held at knife point. He applied Sulphur powder and a fresh bandage then sat down across from her. "The cut isn't deep and is healing nicely. Keep it dry and continue to use the powder to ensure an infection doesn't appear. Now tell me dear, how are you truly holding up after everything you've been through?"

"I've never been so terrified and alive at the same time. That may not make sense, but I've found a new purpose and passion for my life. My goal is to work in the underground and assist you however I can," Porscha said, her eyes alight with enthusiasm.

"Absolutely NOT!" Came a horrified voice from the hallway.

* * *

* Doctor Prust was created by Col Hogan and used with permission.

** Doctor Möller is from my story Shades of Family.


	24. Chapter 24

Newkirk sat beside his childhood friend in the tunnel infirmary watching him sleep. Smitty rolled over onto his sore side, his eyes opening as he hissed.

"'Bout time you woke up," Newkirk said with a half smirk. "How are you doing?"

Smitty's right hand rubbed the sleep out of his eyes as he shifted into a better position. "Okay," his voice was dry. Newkirk handed him a canteen of water from which Smitty drank eagerly.

"Not so fast," he took the canteen and placed it on the table next to the cot. "You can have more in a couple of minutes."

"What's going on?"

"Since you've been down here goldbrickin', we've prepared everything to take both of you to the plane when it lands," he answered with mischievous eyes.

Smitty rolled his eyes at the comment. "Doctors don't know what they're talking about, I'm fit for duty." He tried to sit up wincing.

"Sure you are," Newkirk laid a hand on his shoulder pushing the officer back down. "You're just getting a little old and they want to keep an eye on you."

"Some morale boaster you are," Smitty settled back down on the cot. Newkirk grinned. "How are you handling things?"

"Me? I'm good," the pain of grief apparent in his voice.

"I'm sorry about Rita," Smitty's voice cracked, and he looked away.

"You've got to release that guilt. It's not yours to carry. Only the traitor is responsible. What's it going to take to get that through your thick skull?" Newkirk's voice and eyes were serious.

"I wish things were different," his guilt too close to the edge. He needed to push it away.

"Many things I wish were different but we can't change 'em. Bloody war. Politicians start war and expect the masses to fight it. Why can't we lock the politicians up in a room and let them fight it out?"

Smitty chuckled, "I like that idea. Can you see Churchill and Hitler pacing off at twenty feet in a duel?"

"Nah, that's a gentlemen's duel. Hitler isn't a gentleman. By the time Germany found a gentleman in their ranks the entire top brass would be gone. That's a pleasing thought," his eyes took on a faraway look as if he was envisioning destroying the top leaders in Germany.

"The offer I made to take you back to England is still good."

"It's a might tempting, but the team would be in trouble without me before we even get back 'ome." Newkirk blew out a deep sigh.

"You're with a good group of men and I'm glad I could see them in action. Pretty sweet setup here," Smitty said impressed with the calibre of men at the camp and the fight they continued within enemy territory. He'd never have believed the changes in Peter without seeing the camp.

"Home. It will never be the same with the ruddy damages from the war. How's the family holding up?"

Smitty thought for a moment, his eyes closing as he considered what to say. "Your mum and sister are well, and the homestead has received no damages. Some areas of the neighbourhood have, but most of the bombings have been in other areas. Rusty's pub was wiped out a few weeks ago."

"You're kidding?" Newkirk's eyes were wide. Smitty shook his head indicating he was serious. "That's a bloody shame and tragedy. What do we do without the corner pub?" Memories of afternoons and evenings spent with his friends at Rusty's went through his mind. It was the pub he and Rita were at when the war started and he almost asked her to marry him.

"He moved to another building not far away and started up business again with what was salvaged. Entire neighbourhood helped," Smitty remembered Pat and Rita both down there digging through the rubble saving what could be found. The pub had been a fixture on the corner since 1805. They were silent for several minutes both lost in memory.

"The trial will be rough on Rita's parents. Promise me you'll look in on them," Newkirk asked.

"I doubt they attend the trail, but I'll take care of them. Mavis was with them when I left. She still has the ring you bought for Rita; she showed me before I left," Smitty's voice was low and his eyes not on his friend.

Newkirk swallowed the lump in his throat realizing he wouldn't need the ring now. "I'd stepped out of the way if she wanted to marry you."

"I was comfort in a difficult time. You were the love of her life."

"She was a might special."

"Yep."

"The world's lost a shining star. We'll never know which one of us she would have picked, but I'm grateful for the time we had together," Newkirk's eyes were moist. He looked across the room at his shining star's killer and fantasized about wringing his bloody neck. An image of Rita appeared in his mind's eye warning him to not hurt her baby brother.

"We can't," Smitty said just above a whisper.

"True. Have to honour Rita," Newkirk acquiesced.

"Drugs won't let me stay awake," Smitty yawned and his eyes closed.

"You get some rest. I'll be back." Newkirk left the infirmary before temptation overrode his coping ability. He'd be glad when the bloody traitor left, because it took everything within him not to beat the man to death.

* * *

"No, you can't be part of the underground. It's not safe," Olsen said startling the doctor and nurse.

"What are you doing down here?" Doctor Prust asked standing up.

"You said I could move around," Olsen grabbed hold of the wall to keep from falling.

Both the underground doctor and his girlfriend were instantly at his side. "You knew I meant upstairs in the infirmary, not traipsing through the tunnels. Here sit," they guided the young man to a chair. He took his patient's pulse.

"Sounds like I arrived just in time," Olsen said looking into Porscha's eyes.

Porscha sat next to the man she loved placing a hand on his face. "You take such risk, I can't stand back and do nothing. Earlier the war is over the sooner we can be together. I want to do this."

"You don't understand the danger! The average person in the underground only lives six to eight months from when they join before they're killed usually by the Gestapo," Olsen explained his facial express mixed parts of panic, fear, and determination to keep her safe. He knew a few women in the underground who had beaten the odds, but more that had died in the last two years. Even Tiger had been captured and tortured before she was rescued. His heart wouldn't survive if Porscha was murdered by those bastards.

"How long have you been in the underground, doctor," Porscha asked with wide eyes. All this was so new to her, and the thoughts of people dying scared her.

"Nearly a year and half, but I have a limited participation to keep the men in this camp healthy. I come out by invitation of the Kommandant, so everything appears above board. He is correct, most members of the underground come to an untimely and painful death. I've seen it too many times," he shook his head sadly. Content his patient wasn't in immediate danger, Doctor Prust believed discretion was due here and left the room.

"I can't continue to be a wall flower."

"You're not baby," Olsen took both of her hands into his then leaned in to kiss her. How much did he tell her? It was a double-edge sword. If she understood all the dangers then she'd worry more for him, but he couldn't let her continue down this path. He wouldn't tell her about Tiger, they were opposite personalities. Tiger was admirable, but not someone he'd want to marry as he was traditional. In his eyes, Porscha was more beautiful than Tiger. He ran a hand through her long curly brunette hair stalling for time. "I've already put you in too much danger."

She protested, but he held a hand up stopping the disagreement on her lips. He took a deep breath and blew it out hesitating. "We took you out by what everyone in that dinner would say was Gestapo. You haven't been seen for several days and explaining that will be difficult. What you've learned out here, you can't discuss with anyone at home or work. If you misspoke, and the words reported, you'd be tortured for the evidence and every man out here would be killed."

"I would never tell what goes on at the camp," she shook her head vehemently.

"Not on purpose. Everyone tortured gives in at a point unless the torture kills them first. I've seen entire underground cells wiped out because of one careless word," he looked down deciding what to say next and willing the image in his mind to vanish.

"A few months ago, you came by the house distraught but wouldn't explain why." Olsen looked into her eyes blinking the mist in his eyes away nodding his head. "That was when you found someone wasn't it?" She asked with tenderness.

"A Gestapo officer Major Raban Braun, the head of Düsseldorf Gestapo* had come to town because our local Gestapo went to Berlin for several days. Hammelburg Gestapo is an interesting place and can be bad, Braun, however, is an animal. If he ever got his hands on you…I'd never survive."

"What did he do to them?" she asked. He shook his head looking at their entwined hands instead of her. Porscha removed a hand from his and lifted his chin until they were looking at each other. "Have you told anyone?"

"No," the word barely above a whisper. "I…I…buried them and informed the colonel of the deaths. Then I went to your house."

"There's no reason for you to bear this alone," she ran a hand over his arm. "I may not know everything, but you need to tell someone. Tell me."

"It isn't fair to you."

"It isn't fair for you to carry this burden alone. Let me be here for you, my love."

"He….ahhhh….he….," tears streamed down his face. She waited giving him the time he needed. He wasn't typically this emotional, but head injuries could cause emotions to surface easier. "The…they….they'd been fileted open like a fish all four of them." He buried his head into her shoulder sobbing. Porscha wrapped her arms around him allowing her own silent tears to fall.

Once he regained his composure, he continued. "Everyone in the underground has to be capable and ready to kill without hesitation. It means the lives of many people fighting to stop Hitler and the Gestapo from this crazy existence they want. Then you have people like Nottington. And he…," he stopped gently touching the bandage on her neck.

"You fear for my safety because I'm not trained and I could never take a life," she understood his reasons.

"Just being who you are and loving me makes a difference in the war effort. You have never been a wall flower. I'm a soldier not an underground member. You give me more motives to fight. I'm so sorry that you were exposed to this ugliness."

"Don't say that, I had so many questions, and now understand why you weren't able to confide in me. Your secrets are safe with me. Never would I endanger you or the other men. I love you," she kissed him tenderly for a long moment.

"And I love you," he reached to take her in his arms but she stood backing into the wall, body tense and trembling, eyes enlarged unable to say a word.

The enemy stood at the doorway. The tunnels invaded. Would they be shot immediately or fileted as the underground experienced?

* * *

* My story The Aftermath: Hochstetter's Story


	25. Chapter 25

Olsen jumped up spinning around ready to tackle any threat, he relaxed when he understood the problem. A welcoming smile crossed his face, then he sat down as the room spun.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you," Captain Fritz Fuchs said with his hands held in a non-threatening manner.

Colonel Hogan entered next, "It's all right. Fuchs is a friend."

"Nein, he's real Gestapo!" Couldn't they see the danger?

"Ja, I am, but I am also a member of the underground. We have to stop Hitler," Bluebird said standing back trying to ease her concerns.

"Porscha," Olsen reached a hand toward her indicating for her to sit next to him on the cot. "As scary as it might seem, he's a great ally and I trust him with my life and yours." She swallowed hard and moved to sit next to Olsen, body still tense unsure of the changing dynamic. Olsen put an arm around her shoulders.

"The underground is larger than most imagine and we have members in many professions," Fuchs said sitting on a stool a few feet away. "For obvious reasons, each member only knows two or three other members, so in case of infiltration or capture the loss is minimal. I am in a unique situation knowing that if I'm caught my death will be ugly, but I do it to save Germany and my family."

Hogan sat on the chair closer to the couple but not blocking their view of Bluebird. "We need to decide where you go from here."

"I want to go home. My family must be terrified," she said.

"I've heard that you want to be a part of the underground," Hogan sidestepped.

"Sir, I believe we've worked out that wouldn't be the best situation now," Olsen said tightening his hold on Porscha for a few seconds.

"I want to help, but I can't put anyone in danger," she relaxed a bit.

"Can you keep what you've learned a secret when your Schwester, Mutter und bester Freund* pressure you to know where you've been and how you were injured?" Fuchs asked with a raised eyebrow. "My family's lives are at stake too and we have to know for certain."

She took a deep breath before answering. "Ja, I can. I believe it would be best if we came up with a story close to the truth before I return."

"There is another option. You can go to London with Smitty and Nottington," Olsen stiffened at Hogan's words. Hogan met Olsen's eyes calming his fear, "As a refugee, not a prisoner."

"Thank you for the opportunity, but I want to stay," she said then turned looking into Olsen's eyes. "I need to stay."

"All right, I'm willing to allow you to stay. There are conditions, and they are not negotiable," Hogan said.

Porscha looked at him in confusion and concern, "Conditions?"

"First, you are never to contact Doctor Prust other than in your normal duties at the hospital, or discuss anything you've seen out here with him. Second, since you were taken by the Gestapo, it's proper you're returned by them, which is why Fuchs is here. Third, there is an underground member whom Fuchs will introduce you to that you can discuss things if you need. You must follow his direction and if he stops you from saying anything you must stop. He's one of the first underground members and has hard earned wisdom. I've learned much from our discussions," Hogan said in his command voice.

"Those don't sound difficult," Porscha said. "I have a concern."

"What is it?" Hogan asked.

"I've missed shifts at the hospital, how do I explain to the head nurse?"

"I'll handle her," Fuchs said. "Doctor Prust believes it's best if you don't return to work for a week allowing your neck time to heal. Your cover story will be that the Gestapo needed your assistance with a medical issue. As the loyal German you are, you volunteered your time to help with the war effort. When you return to work, Nurse Schmidt will shower you with praise. Just return to your duties as normal."

"Who can I discuss things with?"

Hogan and Fuchs shared a knowing look, and Olsen understood whom they had chosen. "Don't worry, it's someone you know and it won't appear suspicious if you're seen together," Hogan answered with a gentle smile. "I will give you ten minutes to say goodbye and gather your belongings, and then Fuchs will escort you home. Olsen, you're to return to the infirmary and stay there until released."

"Yes, sir," he blushed knowing the medics and doctor were unhappy with his disappearance. He'd pay for his disobedience, but he needed the time with Porscha.

After the officers left, Porscha wrapped her arms around Olsen staring deeply into his eyes, "I'm glad he didn't send me to England."

"So am I. How will you handle the questions especially from your mom?"

"You are all the motivation I need. I've never told her what happened to Anna, I can do this," she kissed him. He deepened the kiss holding her tight. "Now let's get you back to the infirmary."

"That can wait a moment. We won't see each other for a while," his lips back on hers. Their kiss broke with both out of air. "I love kissing you and I love you."

"Kissing you is one of my favourite things too. I love you so much," Porscha said as they broke apart. She gathered her meager belongings, and they walked down the tunnel towards the infirmary meeting up with Hogan, Fuchs, and LeBeau.

"Are you ready?" Hogan asked.

"Ja, I am. Thank you for everything. Louis, please take care of Derrick until he's better."

"Oui, I will," he gave her a peck on the check.

After Porscha and Olsen finished one last kiss, she left with Fuchs.

"Come," LeBeau took hold of Olsen's arm leading him; the sergeant struggled to stay upright long enough to make it back to the infirmary. LeBeau knocked on the tunnel entrance of the infirmary.

A moment later the trapdoor opened. "Look who finally came back," Wilson said annoyed until he saw his patient's exhaustion. "Let's get you in bed." LeBeau and Wilson helped Olsen up the ladder and to his assigned bed. The medic finished examining his patient determining no damage was done. "How's Porscha?"

"Good. Fuchs is taking her home. The colonel decided she could stay," Olsen's eyes were closing on him.

"Get some rest, we'll talk later," Wilson covered Olsen with a blanket.

* * *

Fuchs stopped the car in front of a familiar house. Porscha's eyes enlarged looking between the house and Fuchs. He nodded his head with a smile. "Told you it would be natural for you to be seen together."

She exited the car, closing the door behind her, and walked to the front ringing the bell. Her grandfather opened the door, a huge smile on his face at seeing her. He pulled her into a tight hug. "I'm so happy you're alive and back." He looked behind her smiling at Fuchs. Releasing his granddaughter, he grasped Fuchs hand. "Thank you my friend. Where was she?"

"Hello, Pierre, she was assisting Papa Bear and never arrested by Gestapo," Fuchs answered.**

"Ahh…," he nodded knowingly. "Young Derrick and Papa Bear I assume." Porscha appeared bewildered he knew so much. "Come child, there is much we need to discuss." Porscha and Fuchs entered his home.

* * *

Lights out was thirty minutes ago, and the men of barracks two were in the tunnel infirmary. "Newkirk and Baker, I want you to carry Smitty's stretcher, while Carter and Reynolds take Nottington. Wilson, are they are ready to go?" Hogan asked.

"Yes, sir, Nottington won't wake up before he arrives in London," he clipped the patient notes to each man's chest. "Smitty will be in and out for most of the trip." Neither man regained consciousness as they were carried through the tunnels then passed to the men waiting above using the old trap door close to the tree trunk entrance***. This entrance was used to move large equipment or patients; the tree trunk was more convenient for normal in and out of the tunnel. Once outside, the men were loaded into a truck borrowed from the motor pool. As the truck came to a stop at the field used as the Allied airfield, Smitty opened his eyes.

"Time to go home?"

"Yep, you lucky dog," Newkirk kneeled beside him. "Plane just signaled and will land in a few minutes."

"Thanks pal, for everything," Smitty placed a hand on Newkirk's arm.

"Any time. Seems I'm always rescuing you," he winked at his old friend.

"Keep telling yourself that, I remember rescuing you lots," both men laughed. "Seriously, take care of yourself out here. We have a lot of time to make up for and need to drink England dry of beer."

"Bloody hell, you're trying to get me on that plane with you," Newkirk shook his head. Smitty gave him an unapologetic grin. They could hear the plane landing in the background. Newkirk and Baker picked up the stretcher while Carter and Reynolds carried Nottington loading both patients on the plane. Newkirk glared at the traitor who remained unconscious. Then he turned and gave his friend a nod. "Ta, see ya in London." Smitty nodded unable to trust his voice.

The men of Stalag 13 watched as the plane door closed and took off before heading home. Two hours later, Baker came up the tunnel grinning. "The plane landed safely. Nottington's in custody and both are being treated by doctors."

"That's ruddy good news, thanks," Newkirk said.

"It is good news. Thanks for sitting with the radio. It's late and everyone needs sleep. Good night gentlemen," Hogan ordered as he closed his door.

Newkirk climbed into his bunk turning to the wall, Rita on his mind.

* * *

The train came to a stop near his home, he had a three-day pass from the RAF, the fourth he had since joining. On the platform waving were the three ladies in his life, his mum, sister, and Rita.

"Oh Peter," his mum pulled him close hugging his neck. She let go taking a step back running her eyes over him. "Let me get a good look at you. You've lost weight, don't they feed you in the RAF?"

He laughed, "Yes ma'am, they feed me well."

"Hey big brother," Mavis gave him a hug. "Glad to have you home."

"Thanks sis."

He stood in front of Rita soaking her in, then pulled her close kissing as lovers who had been away too long. "Miss me?" he asked with a mischievous smile.

Rita swatted him on the arm, "What do you think?"

His time off went by in a blur of friends and family, he hadn't realized how bad he missed home; training and the war left little time to think about anything else. The morning he was to return his mum fixed him a huge breakfast. He was helping to put away the dishes.

"I'm sorry I have to work and can't go to the train with you," his mum said sadly.

"Don't worry about it. I understand. Besides, Rita is coming to see me off," Peter said giving her a lopsided grin.

"You need to ask that girl to marry you," she shook her finger at him

"After the war, mum, after the war," he agreed with her.

"Those two will give you grandbabies," Mavis said sharing a knowing smile with her brother. She had Rita's engagement ring in her room for safe keeping.

Shortly after his mum left Rita arrived, and Mavis pulled her brother into a tight hug. "Take care of yourself, and I'll see you next time you come home."

He returned her hug, "Ta, and thanks." He winked at her as she gathered her stuff leaving them alone.

Rita wore the red dress with all the buttons down the front, "We have three hours to get you to the train. What do you want to do?"

He grinned and pulled her close and unbuttoned the top button. Her hands stopped him from going to the second one, she looked up at him with a playful smile. "Each button will cost you."

"Oh, and what would the cost be?" He eyes danced with delight.

"A kiss," before she could say anything else his lips were on hers; the kiss left her breathless and her toes curled.

"I think that's a tariff I can pay," he laughed. "What happens if you undo a button?"

"That costs two kisses," she undid the next button.

Three hours later, they were at the train platform. Rita wrapped her arms around his neck. "Promise me something."

"What?" he looked deep into her eyes.

"You won't forget about me when you meet all those other beautiful women," her eyes never leaving his.

"I could never forget you," he gave her a gently kiss. Her expression said she needed more. "I promise, you will always be in my heart and I'll never forget you."

She smiled forcing the tears of goodbye to wait.

"All aboard! Last call all aboard!" The conductor yelled.

Peter boarded the train and stuck his head out a window watching her as the train pulled away, his eyes on her until she vanished from his sight. Rita stayed on the platform until the train could no longer be seen tears falling softly. It was the last time they'd ever see each other.

* * *

"I promise, I'll never forget you," he said tenderly tears falling onto his bunk. He closed his eyes allowing sleep to claim him hoping to dream of Rita Nottington.

The End

* * *

A/N I hope you enjoyed Rita's story. Please leave a review and tell me what you think.

* Sister, mother, and best friend

** Pierre is from Episode The Reluctant Target

*** Episode The Assassin


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